Divergence
by Lyra Ngalia
Summary: Just how deeply does the memory of a first love shape the rest of a person's life? Post movie fic, movie and anime spoilers abound
1. In a Mirror

**In a Mirror**

_New York City, June 13, 1927_  
Alphonse Elric tore his eyes away from the viewfinder on his camera, aimed at the spectacle in front of him, and yelled over the noise of the crowd to his brother, "This is incredible!"

Staring up at the paper drifting down from the windows above them like some bizarre summer snowstorm, Edward Elric nodded, "It is! He made it across the entire ocean in less than two days! Remember how long it took us on that ship?" The last automobile in the motorcade passed in front of them, causing a surge of confetti from above, and Edward turned away from the street to begin walking down the crowded sidewalk.

The two brothers walked in silence for several city blocks, weaving their way around eddies of people. It was a warm summer day for New York City, and Al was just about to break the silence between them by suggesting a detour through Central Park when an angry shout from ahead caught their attention. "I don't have all day for you to learn how to put one foot in front of the other! Move it, jerk!" a female voice demanded. Craning his neck, Al saw the top of a light blonde head bob along insistently.

Whoever the blonde was yelling at apparently got the point, for the mass in front of her parted, and she dashed along. The young woman scurried past them, in such a hurry that all Al could make out of her was a flash of purple skirt and blonde hair. He turned to comment on the appearance of the aggressive young woman to his older brother, but the words died in his throat when he saw his brother's face. Edward Elric stood frozen to the spot, his face as pale as if he'd seen a ghost. For the rest of their walk home, Al tried to engage his older brother in conversation, but Ed remained distant and withdrawn.

* * *

Al frowned to himself as he took a picture of sunset over the skyline from the window of their small suite of rooms. Ed had waved his younger brother on home, explaining he wanted to check on his lab equipment and didn't want to bore Al, but that had been hours ago and Al was beginning to get worried.

An insistent purr, accompanied by warm fur rubbing up against his ankles, grabbed Al's immediate attention, and he smiled down at the ginger-coloured cat. "Hungry, Hawkeye?" he asked the feline as he drew the curtains closed and headed to the ice box. The sound of the opening ice box brought a dark grey cat around the corner, and Al grinned as the ginger meowed loudly at the grey. "Don't worry, Mustang, you'll get your turn too. Hawkeye won't take all your milk."

Just as Al finished pouring out two dishes of milk, the front door opened, and a disheveled Edward entered, shedding his overcoat. "Letting the cats boss you around again, Al?" he asked, tired amusement in his voice as he put away his coat. The grey cat turned away from his supper and hissed, causing Ed to glare, muttering, "I hate that damned cat."

Hiding a small, relieved smile, Al put away the cats' milk and put a kettle of water on to boil. It seems Ed's strange mood had abated, if not entirely disappeared; in the years since he'd been reunited with Ed in this strange new world, Al had become used to this older, more somber Edward, and he accepted this change in his brother as a product of maturity. He still worried about Ed's well-being, but he accepted that there were some things his brother simply would not share.

* * *

Al checked his pocket watch before knocking on a heavy, nondescript door with his free hand. An older man with brown hair opened the door and gave Al a smile. "Hello, Professor Roberts," Al greeted the man.

The man, Ed's instructor and the head of aerodynamic research at the lab, paused in his struggle with his coat to respond, "How's work with the Times, Alphonse? I saw one of your photographs from the Lindbergh parade. You've got a gift with that camera." Al blushed at the compliment as Roberts continued, "See if you can get that stubborn boy you call your brother to quit early. It's going to start getting cold soon; you boys should get plenty of fresh air while it's still warm enough outside."

"I'll try, sir," Al promised, "but you know how Ed is." Roberts nodded, all too familiar with Edward Elric's habits, and resumed putting on his coat. "Good night, Professor," Al added as the man left for the day.

With easy familiarity, Al left his camera case next to the perpetually teetering coat rack and navigated the narrow hallway strewn with half finished airplane wings until he reached another door. Hearing no loud whirling, Al knocked twice on the door and entered when he made out Ed's voice. "Brother, it's past five o'clock," Al said as he entered, "even Professor Roberts has left. Let's go home."

Ed did not tear his eyes from his workbench, where he was slowly trickling a clear liquid from a tube in his gloved hand into a seemingly empty flask. "In a few minutes," he said distractedly, "I just want to finish testing this mixture. Professor Roberts mentioned adding kerosene to blau gas. I want to try it before we go."

Al sighed silently and sat down on the nearest stool. Even though he expected Ed to still be working, Al had entertained a small hope that they could go through Central Park on the way home, since the last time he'd suggested the route, Ed had been melancholy and unresponsive after the incident with the blonde stranger.

A muffled boom and the sound of shattering glass made Al leap up with a cry. "Brother?" he cried, peering over at the small cloud that hung over Ed's workbench. "Are you all right?"

A loud cough from behind the cloud of smoke reassured Al that Ed was alive, and he relaxed. "Al, there's a telephone in the hallway," Ed said hoarsely, "Tell the operator to connect you to a doctor." Eyes wide, Al almost flew down the hall to follow Ed's instructions.

When he returned, the lab room was no longer smoky and Ed stood at the opened window. "A doctor's on his way," Al informed him, "Do you want to sit down?"

Ed turned from the window, his left hand pressed over his right cheek. "I'll be fine, just got cut a little when the flask exploded," he smiled to reassure Al, then pointed at the door, "Can you make sure the doctor can get in?" Al nodded and disappeared down the hall again.

Once he was certain Al was out of the lab, Ed pulled his hand away and winced at the bright red stain on his glove. He also hissed in pain when the act of wincing caused the cut to sting. Ed clapped his hand back over the cut and waited as patiently as he could for the doctor to arrive. He had mostly sent Al outside to wait for the doctor so his younger brother wouldn't see the blood and be worried, but now Ed was grateful for the few minutes alone.

He was more than a little angry at himself for being careless enough to cause the accident. Ever since the parade, Ed found he had trouble concentrating, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to the memory of the blonde woman he'd seen on the way home. His brief glimpse of her face haunted him and reminded him of the same face, the same light blonde hair and deep blue eyes, berating him even as she gave him new limbs she'd crafted out of blind hope that he'd return. Then, as if his very thoughts had conjured her, Winry Rockbell burst into the room, followed closely by Al.

"Winry?" Ed asked in disbelief as the blonde dropped her bag on the lab table and rifled within. The woman was the spitting image of his childhood friend; even though he'd seen several of this world's inhabitants that mirrored people he'd known, Ed was not prepared for the woman who stood in front of him, blond hair tied back except for two strands at her temples, deep blue eyes narrowed in concentration. He'd seen that same look of concentration a thousand times before bent over his automail, except now it was directed at a dark bulging bag of medical supplies.

"Sara, Sara Rockbell," she finally introduced herself as she set two bottles and a white cloth on the tabletop, "I'm the doctor from Marcoh's clinic down the street." She turned to Al, who stood just within the doorway, and ordered, "Alphonse, is it? Bring me a basin of clean water."

"Yes ma'am," Al responded, his expression mildly shell-shocked, but nowhere near as stunned as Edward's. Without another word, he scurried out of the room.

"Your brother says the experiment you were working on exploded," Sara said, opening one of the bottles and dousing her hands with the liquid within. Ed wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of alcohol that permeated the air when she rubbed her hands. "What were you experimenting with?" She gestured impatiently at his face and Ed pulled his hand away.

"Just kerosene and blau gas," he answered. At her puzzled look, he explained, "It's kind of like natural gas. Explosive, but not caustic. And it was a very small amount; it's probably gone by now. I opened the windows."

The young woman regarded her patient for a moment before waving him to a seat. "I suppose you'd know better than I would whether what you were using is dangerous to skin," she said, though her voice clearly suggested that if it were true, she would not be standing there with a bleeding patient. Ed frowned at her as he sat down, and the motion caused a fresh trickle of blood to flow down his face.

"Thank you," Sara Rockbell said distractedly when Al returned with a basin of clean water and set it down next to Ed. "And stop making faces, Edward."

Ed jumped and demanded, "How'd you know my name?"

The expression on Sara Rockbell's face was matter-of-fact, though there was a hint of surprise in her voice. "Your brother, Alphonse, told me," she explained. "Now will you _please_ hold still so I can get you fixed up?" Before Ed could reply, she'd taken his chin firmly in hand, and begun dabbing water onto the cut.

Ed held still, trying to ignore the fact that Winry's spitting image stood over him, berating him in the same manner that Winry had hundreds of times before, and concentrated on the soothing touch of water on his skin. So focused was he on the simple sensation that he failed to notice that the young doctor had finished cleaning off the wound until he felt something burn his cheek. "What the _hell_, W—, Rockbell?" he swore, jumping out of his seat.

Sara raised her hand, showing her patient the small glass bottle labeled "Iodine" in her hand. "It's to keep your cut from getting infected," she explained, impatience apparent in her voice even as she took a seat on the edge of the lab table. "The cut on your face is fairly shallow but bloody, if you haven't noticed. I normally wouldn't do this for a shallow wound, but every time you talk, your muscles are pulling it back open, so I'm going to have to stitch it up." She glared at him and pointed the bottle at him threateningly, "Sit still and it'll be over in a few minutes." Ed glared back at her, but quickly realized that whether she answered to Winry or Sara, the female Rockbell was not going to make life easy for Edward Elric. He returned to his seat and managed to hold still as he watched her thread a needle.

The procedure was nothing like having his automail repaired, being a process of continuous dull pain instead of a sudden flood of excruciating sensation. However, the woman in front of him wore a look he'd seen time and time before. If it wasn't for the fact that the doctor was putting tiny stitches on his face, Ed could have sworn she _was_ Winry, about to make some minute adjustment or another to his arm.  
A deft knot and another dab of iodine finished the stitching and Sara peered critically at her handiwork. "I'll put a bandage on it before I go," she said, reaching for Ed's left hand. "I'm hoping all this blood on your hand is just from that cut on your face," she muttered, pulling his glove off and rolling up the sleeve. It took a few moments of scrutiny before she was satisfied his left arm was unharmed.

"When can I take these things out of my face?" Ed asked, probing at the tiny threads with a delicate finger.

Sara slapped his hand away with a glare. "_You_ are not going to take those stitches out," she informed him. "Come by the clinic in a week and I'll take them out for you."

Ed seemed on the edge of protest when Al chimed in, "I'll make sure he comes by, Doctor. Where's your clinic again?"

"A block and a half north of here," Sara answered as both she and Al ignored the glare Ed leveled at them. "When you get to the clinic, make sure you ask for Dr. Rockbell. Marcoh's name might be on the front, but I wouldn't trust him with a bandage." Sara turned her attention back to Ed and reached for his right arm, "Let me check your right arm before I put a bandage on you and let you go."

Ed flinched as her fingertips grazed his automail and he jerked away from her. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but somehow it felt _wrong_ to let this almost-Winry see the metal limb. "This arm's fine," he snapped, harsher than he intended.

Misinterpreting his actions, Sara frowned, reaching for him again. "You flinched. Does it hurt? It's not bleeding—"

Almost knocking the chair over in his haste to avoid Sara's inspection, Ed backed away from the well-intentioned young woman, clutching his right arm to his side. Only half understanding his brother's actions but recognizing the nervous way he eyed the doctor, Al nevertheless attempted to defuse the situation by slipping between them. "It's okay, Doctor Rockbell," he assured her with a smile. "Like you said, there's no blood, and I'll make sure Ed's arm is fine when we get home. Let's not keep you here too long. It's starting to get dark outside."

Sara still looked skeptical, her eyes lingering on Ed's gloved hand. "I suppose since it looks like your gloves are still fine, you didn't cut yourself," she allowed. "Will you come back over here so I can bandage you up?"

Ed looked distinctly uncomfortable at the idea of closing the gap between them again. "Could I just have a bandage? I'd much rather put it on myself," he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"I suppose," Sara replied, concerned at this strange behavior. She retrieved the necessary supplies from her bag and placed them on the lab table, then gathered her things together. "Alphonse, will you please walk me to the door?" she requested, glancing at Edward, who had returned to his seat at the lab bench and begun carefully attaching the pad of gauze to his face.

Al followed her gaze and nodded when his eyes landed on his older brother. "Of course," he said, leading the way.

* * *

Once safely out of the lab, Al stopped and turned back to the blonde doctor. "I'm really sorry about Ed, Dr. Rockbell," he apologized. "He's usually not like this."

Sara waved his apology away with a flick of her hand. "Your brother may get feverish tonight. It's not an uncommon reaction," she informed the young man, "Just make sure he eats something, drinks plenty of fluid, and rests."

"What should he eat?" Al asked.

"A sandwich and a glass of milk, maybe some soup would be best," Sara answered, "Nothing heavy." Al couldn't help but smile widely at the mention of milk, and Sara looked at him curiously, "Did I say something funny?"

Al shook his head and continued walking down the hall. "You just reminded me of someone when you mentioned making my brother drink milk," he said. When they'd reached the door, Al peered outside and frowned in concern, "It's starting to get dark. Are you heading back to the clinic?"

Sara smiled at Al and shook her head, "No, I closed up before I came over. I'm heading home. I just won't take my walk through Central Park tonight."

"Through Central Park?" Al echoed. "_I_ walk through Central Park to get home!" Sara looked surprised, and a few more questions established that the Elric brothers lived only two blocks from her. "We'll walk you home sometime," Al promised, "Especially when winter comes and it gets dark early."

"It would be nice to have some company," Sara admitted, "although I don't think your brother would be very pleased by the idea. Somehow I don't think he likes me much." Although she'd met the two blond brothers only hours ago, a note of hurt still managed to creep into Sara's voice.

Al placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. "I think you took my brother by surprise. You remind both of us of someone we used to know," he explained with a smile, "and having to sit still while you sewed up his face probably just made him grumpy. You'll see; Ed's really a nice person."

"I'll see you around, Alphonse," Sara said, returning his smile as she stepped through the door. "Good night!"

Al stood in the doorway, watching until the blonde woman disappeared down the street. Footsteps behind him told Al that his brother had finished up in the lab. "She's this world's Winry, isn't she, Brother?" Al asked softly as he turned to face Ed.

Wordlessly, Ed handed Al his camera case and took his coat off the rack. "Let's go," Ed finally said, stepping out into the darkened street. "The cats are probably hungry."

**

* * *

****Additional Notes:**  
_June 13, 1927_ - A ticker tape parade was held for Charles Lindbergh to commemorate his achievement of the first solo non-stop flight across the Atlantic. The flight took place between New York City, New York and Paris, France on May 20-21, 1927 and lasted 33 hours, 30 minutes, and 29.8 seconds. Lindbergh's airplane, _The Spirit of St. Louis,_ is currently on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. in the US. - A ticker tape parade was held for Charles Lindbergh to commemorate his achievement of the first solo non-stop flight across the Atlantic. The flight took place between New York City, New York and Paris, France on May 20-21, 1927 and lasted 33 hours, 30 minutes, and 29.8 seconds. Lindbergh's airplane, is currently on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, DC. in the US. 

Rubbing alcohol - Though Prohibition was still alive and well during 1927, the ban on alcohol did not extend to medical uses of alcohol. Prohibition also saw a marked jump in the abuse of medicines containing alcohol, though the consumption of medical alcohol has extreme consequences, including death and blindness.


	2. Darkly

**Darkly **

Afternoon sunlight filtered into the small main room and glinted off the carefully polished metal of Edward Elric's right hand as his fingers drummed in an unconscious rhythm. "It's a nice afternoon, isn't it?" Al asked, dangling a bit of string in front of the uninterested grey cat sprawled out on the floor.

"Hm?" Ed answered vaguely, his attention absorbed by the book opened in his lap. "Yeah, it's great, Al."

Alphonse Elric looked up and frowned at his older brother. "We're going to the park," he announced, picking the dozing ginger cat up off his lap and depositing her gently on the floor. When Edward merely turned a page in response to his pronouncement, Al's frown deepened and he crossed the room. The older Elric did nothing until Al grabbed the book from his hands and held it above his head.

"Al!" Ed protested, glaring into his younger brother's smiling face. "Give that back!" He stood up and his glare strengthened, annoyed that his brother's growth spurt had surpassed his own and the book was several inches out of reach. "I am not jumping up for it," Ed said darkly.

The grin on Alphonse's face widened, "Well, it got your attention. It's a beautiful day outside. Let's go to Central Park." Al lowered his arm but kept a firm grasp on the book, knowing Ed would try to snatch it back as soon as he saw an opportunity. "I'll give you the book back once we get there," he promised. "You can read outside just as well as you can in here."

Edward sighed but consented when he glanced out the window. It _was_ a beautiful day, and it was hard for him to deny his brother such a simple request. "I'll grab my gloves and coat," he said as he disappeared into his room. "Just make sure the cats don't get out this time, will you, Al? I don't want to go chasing after that stupid grey cat again."

The cat in question was still sprawled in a patch of sunlight and seemed inclined to stay right where he was. Al smiled to himself as he checked the latch on his camera case; Ed had protested loudly when he'd brought home Mustang as a companion to the ginger Hawkeye, but, despite all the dark looks and snide comments, Al knew Ed had a certain fondness for the two cats.

"And you say _I_ work too much," Ed remarked as he came out of his room, gloves on his hands and his coat over his arm. "You're bringing your camera!"

"At least I can take my work outside," Al retorted as he opened the door. "You're always cooped up in that lab. I worry about you, Brother."

Ed smiled as he locked the door behind them. "I'm older than you, Al. I should be the one doing the worrying." Alphonse met his eye and shrugged before hurrying down the stairs without a word. Ed stood for a moment to watch the younger man bound down the stairs before following.

* * *

"You're getting slow, Brother!" Al called as he leapt backwards to avoid the punch. Edward growled in response as he recovered his balance, and Al took advantage of the moment to rush at his older brother, letting loose a flying kick as he neared Ed.

Nimbly, Ed vaulted into a one-handed back flip, watching as Al's foot encountered empty air where his head had been just a moment ago. "Slow, eh?" he demanded, diving at Al's stomach. The younger man braced himself and executed a complicated turn a moment before Ed reached him, grasping his older brother's arm and flipping him in a neat arc.

Ed suddenly found himself flat on his back on the grassy slope, staring at the sky. "Damn it, Al," he wheezed as he regained his breath. "I hate it when you do that."

"I told you you were slow," Al teased as he peered down at Ed, a wide smile on his face. "Guess it's because you're getting old." He extended a hand to help Ed up, but was swatted away with a reciprocal grin.

"I think I'll lie here for a while and catch my breath. Getting beaten by you three times is enough for one day," Edward replied, pillowing his head with his arms and closing his eyes.

Al smiled to himself at the sight of Ed lying on the grass, then returned to where they had left their belongings and unpacked his camera from its case. "Do you two do this often?" a familiar female voice asked.

"Sara!" Al exclaimed, surprised. "How are you?"

Sara Rockbell placed her bag on the ground and smiled. "I was just on my way home when I saw you two going at it," she explained. "I'm guessing you're _not_ trying to kill each other?"

"No, it's just exercise." Al sat down on the grass, his camera in his lap, and Sara joined him, tucking her legs beneath her skirt. "Were you at the clinic on a Saturday?"

With a nod, Sara answered, "People don't stop needing doctors just because it's a weekend. How's your brother Edward doing? I hope you were right about nothing being wrong with his arm."

"His arm's fine," Al affirmed, neglecting to explain that a shard of wayward glass was not going to cause Edward Elric's right arm any damage. "He had a slight fever that night but was well enough the next morning to be grumpy when I tried to make him have milk with breakfast." With a laugh, Al shook his head, "You'd think by now I'd stop trying since he hates it so much, but it's good for him."

The young woman beside him sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, staring at the blond not too far away. "You try to take care of your younger brother, don't you, Alphonse?"

Al glanced over at Ed to see if Sara's comment had carried, but there was no reaction. "Ed's the older one, actually," he corrected. It felt strange to correct the simple mistake; even though he knew Sara had only met him and Ed several days ago, Al still could not shake the feeling that this was something the blonde woman should have known. "And I can't help looking out for Ed," Al continued. "After all, he gave up so much for me."

"Oh?" Sara asked, her curiosity obviously piqued. "What happened?"

Pausing to gather his thoughts, Al mulled over how best to explain Ed's sacrifice in terms that would make sense to Sara, who did not know of any other world beside the one she lived in. "Our mother died suddenly when Ed and I were young," he began. "She'd been sick for a long time, but she never told us. Our mother meant the world to us. Since our father left when I was just a baby, our mother was the only family Ed and I had ever known."

When he looked up, Al saw that Sara was looking at him in understanding, and he wondered just how extensively Sara Rockbell's life mirrored Winry Rockbell's. "But after our mother died, Ed and I..., we did some very stupid things," Al continued. "There was an accident, and I was hurt badly. Ed blamed himself because he was older even though we were both children and didn't know any better. For four years, I was in a state where I didn't have very good control of my body." Al felt a little guilt for the deception, but he realized that the idea was one Sara understood and let the lie stand.

"Ed did everything he could to make me better. He did research, he found people who knew more than he did, he risked his life for the chance to make me well. And he did, but it took a huge toil on him. I didn't see Ed for years afterwards; I thought I'd lost him for good. I only found him again four years ago." Al paused in his narration and fiddled with his camera before continuing, "We both gave up something very dear to us to be reunited. I can't help looking after him; he's the only family I have." His lengthy narration over, Al picked up his camera again and snapped a picture of Ed lying on the grass. With a sheepish smile, he turned back to Sara and said, "So, enough about our life. What about you? What made you become a doctor?"

"My parents," Sara explained, a shadow falling over her face. "They were doctors. During the Great War, they were in Belgium; my father had been studying with a man there, trying to do research. When war broke out, my father wanted to come back to the States so that our family would be safe, but my mother insisted it was their duty as to help the people who were getting injured."

Sara drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "I was here in the States with my grandfather at the time. I was nine, but I understood the letters they managed to send home. That the fighting was worse than they could describe, that the machines that had been created for the Great War were awful things that burned the lungs of the people, that guns left hundreds of soldiers with bloody stumps where their limbs should have been—"

Sara, whose voice had gotten steadily softer, visibly shook herself and continued in a matter-of-fact tone, "When Germany invaded Antwerp, my parents were killed. I stayed with my grandfather, and for the longest time I blamed my mother, I thought she was foolish for not wanting to come home. One day, I was upset, and I told my grandfather that if my mother hadn't been such a fool that I would still have my parents. He got so angry then, because my mother had been his only daughter and he knew she had done what was right. I realized then that even though I had loved my parents, I hadn't known them very well before they died, and so I started learning about them, learning about the kind of people they were." Sara turned and met Al's eyes with a shrug. "And I fell in love with what my parents did, what they thought was the right thing to do. I became a doctor, and I started going by Sara, my mother's name, instead of my first name."

"Sara isn't your real name?" Al asked in surprise. "I mean, it's real, but it's not what your parents named you?"

The young doctor shook her head, a faint smile on her lips as she watched Alphonse speak. "No," she answered, "my parents named me Winry." She paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. "The day your brother had his accident," she marveled, "he called me Winry. I just remembered."

Alphonse's eyes darkened, as if the shadow that had fallen over Sara's face had shifted to his own before he explained, "We had a very good friend named Winry. You look a lot like her."

"It's not a very common name," Sara observed pensively as she stared into space. "I've never met anyone with it before. And to think there's someone out there that looks like me and shares my name. How many people in this world can there be with the name Winry?"

At her words, Al felt a faint lump rise in his throat and he forced himself to swallow hard past it. "Not many," he agreed, unable to keep the melancholy out of his voice. "I don't think there's more than one in any world."

* * *

The warm sun on his face and the feel of grass beneath Edward had left him drowsy, his mind drifting about in that nebulous boundary between sleep and wakefulness. He smiled at the sound of a soft thump near his head, and spoke without opening his eyes, "On a day like today, I can almost imagine we're at home, Al."

"And where would that be?" a feminine voice that was definitely _not_ Alphonse asked. At the sound, Ed's eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet. The sudden motion caused his tired muscles to protest, but Edward ignored it, his attention drawn to the fact that his right arm was hanging at his side even as he tried to bring it up to his chest.

"I thought you were—" Edward began, giving himself a shake. Almost immediately, he was able to bring his arm up to his face, to run the cool metal fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm himself.

"Alphonse," the blonde woman sitting next to his book supplied. "I figured as much." She gave him a calm, pleasant smile that made Ed feel more than a little foolish for his reaction, and he awkwardly sat back down, just out of arm's reach. "I was on my way home from the clinic when I saw you and your brother fighting," she continued. "I thought I would see how you're doing. Some people don't take well to stitches."

"I'm fine," came the automatic reply before Edward could help himself. His left hand reached up and brushed the bandage still covering his cheek before he admitted, "It itches a little."

Sara gave a smile at his answer, and Ed couldn't help but return the gesture. "The itching is normal," she assured him, "but just in case, will you take off the bandage so I can take a look to make sure?" With a nod, Edward carefully peeled the gauze from his wound, trying his best to ignore the sluggish response of his right arm as he did so. Leaning close, Sara peered at the line of tiny black stitches on his face and probed them with a light finger. "They're healing fast," she remarked, "a bit faster than I expected. You can come by the clinic on Monday for me to take them out."

Ed nodded as he replaced the gauze bandage. "I heal fast," he explained, flexing his fingers. The strange unresponsiveness of his automail seemed limited to when he moved his forearm; fine motor function of his fingers did not look or feel different. Still, the thought of his automail malfunctioning sent a chill up Edward's spine. He was alone here; there was no violently caring blonde mechanic to help him.

Misinterpreting the look of concentration on Edward's face, Sara asked, "Is your arm alright? When I asked Alphonse, he said you were fine, but you look worried."

Blinking rapidly, Edward had to remind himself that the blonde in front of him was _not_ his childhood friend despite the striking similarity. "It just fell asleep," he lied, forcing a smile on his face. "Nothing a little time won't fix."

Finding nothing in the answer to object to despite the worry in his eyes, Sara nodded and stood. "I should be heading home," she said, an eye on the reddening sky. "It's getting late."

Edward followed her gaze and his eyes widened in surprise; he had not noticed how low the sun had gotten until she mentioned it. "You don't live too far from us, do you?" he asked as he waved to Al, who had his camera pointed at the two of them. "Al, will you walk Sara home?"

At the request, Al lowered the camera from his face and smiled. "Sure, but why don't we both walk with Sara?" he called back.

"I forgot a book at the lab that Professor Roberts wanted me to read by Monday," Ed answered, looking uncomfortable, "and it's already Saturday afternoon." A loud sigh came from Al as he packed up his camera, and a quiet chuckle from next to him reminded Edward that Sara stood next to him. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I should have asked if you wanted company before I offered Al as an escort. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she answered, blue eyes laughing. "In fact, I'd be very glad of the company."

"Great," Al added as he joined them, camera case in hand. "Let's go."

* * *

Walking briskly, it didn't take Edward very long to reach the laboratory where he did research. As he unlocked the door and entered the building, Ed couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt; he had lied to Al about the reason why he'd needed the book, though he had done it to keep Al from worrying about him. The book he wanted was a manual about machinery, which he found on the professor's bookshelf. Edward couldn't deny that his automail was acting strangely, and, without Winry, he was going to have to learn how to fix it himself.

* * *

Alphonse couldn't help but smile as he followed Sara down the street. "So your brother's some kind of scientist?" Sara asked.

"Well, he's a student of Professor Roberts," Al explained. "He also assists the professor in his research of aerodynamics. Ed has always been an al— a scientific mind."

"What about you?" she continued, gesturing to the rectangular case in his hand. "Is that camera you carry just a hobby?"

"No, I'm a photographer for the Times," came the answer. "It's not as impressive a job as Edward's, but I like it. There's something about photographs. They just freeze a moment in time; it doesn't matter who the people in it were before or after the photograph is taken. They can convey so much about people. I love the idea of being able to show people moments that make them feel different about the world around them." Catching himself rambling, Al stopped and smiled self-consciously. "Sorry for rambling, but I like what I do."

Sara shook her head and patted the younger man on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm the same way," she reassured him as she slowed her steps in front of a dark brick building. "Well, thank you for walking me home, Alphonse. And thank your brother for offering."

"I will," Al promised. "I'll make sure he comes by your clinic sometime next week for you to check on his stitches before he tries picking them out himself."

Sara's responding laugh was so similar to Winry's that Al felt goose bumps form on his arms. "He does seem the type to do that," she said. "I told him they should be ready to come out on Monday, so I suppose I will see you two then." Al nodded, and she added as she unlocked the door, "Good night."

"Good night," Al echoed, waiting until she had disappeared safely inside the building before he continued down the street towards his own home.

* * *

After a simple supper of bread and cold chicken, Edward retreated to his room and opened the book. Admittedly a curious and scientific mind, he had never before concerned himself with machines or how they worked, despite his reliance on one, and he found that the manual confusing with its diagrams of parts and wiring. Though he knew that this world had nothing like automail in terms of technology, he hoped that the manual would at least give him a rudimentary understanding of the way machines worked and keep him from destroying the intricate mechanisms within his automail.

It didn't take long for the blond to sigh in frustration and turn away from the book. Rolling his sleeve up, he stared at the dull silver plating on his forearm, imaging the mass of motors, sensors, and wires within, wondering if he dared to remove the plate and just start poking around. For about the hundredth time since the afternoon, Edward wished Winry was with him, or, at the very least, that he had paid attention during those numerous times when she'd gone on tangents about the way his automail worked.

Nearly squinting in the light of his single lamp, Edward rationalized that even if he wanted to open up his arm and take a look, it was too dark to see anything. With a sigh, he pushed the book away and began to undress for bed, doing his best to ignore the fact that he was having to exert more force than usual to make his right arm move where it was supposed to. Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, when sunlight would allow him to see the minute details of his arm, tomorrow he would attempt to repair his automail.

Silently climbing into his cold bed, Edward couldn't help thinking that he had never once believed he could miss the blonde mechanic as sorely as he now did. It had been his thoughts of her expertise that he had initially missed, but now, as he lay in bed, his mind couldn't help but conjure up the memory of pale blonde hair, of dark blue eyes, of soft skin and of gentle hands.

* * *

Early afternoon sun streamed through the glass of Ed's window, filling his bedroom with light and glinting off his automail arm resting on the desk as he stared at it, his nervous apprehension betrayed by the way he continued to bite his lip. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the screwdriver in his hand; though he knew that he was only going to take a look at the way his limb worked, Edward still couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to blindly operate on himself. With another deep breath, he began loosening the screws holding the front plate.

It took Ed longer to remove the plate than he recalled it ever taking Winry or Granny Rockbell, but he attributed that to his lack of experience. Carefully setting aside the front plate and the screws, Edward stared, wide-eyed, into the heart and soul of his automail. Ropes of twisted wires ran through the length of the forearm, with connections branching off into what appeared to his untrained eye to be motors, as well as other things he couldn't even begin to describe, much less hazard the functions of.

Ed clenched and unclenched his hand, watching in fascination as certain motors whirled soundlessly at each motion. When he was satisfied that he had at least figured out which particular motion of his fingers caused which motor to activate, Edward turned his attention to the larger motor at his elbow joint. With the utmost care, he bent his arm at the elbow and watched the motor. Like the smaller ones that helped with his fine finger movements, the motor turned smoothly and soundlessly though he felt resistance in the joint.

With a cautious finger, Ed probed the area around the joint, feeling nothing beneath his fingertip except well greased metal. A frown spreading over his face, Ed continued his search until his finger encountered something sharp wedged into the joint. With a bit of prying, he fished out the foreign object and was surprised to find that it was a shard of glass. "Must have been that flask," he mused to himself, dropping the shard on the table and testing his arm. The reactions were again as he expected, and he picked up the metal plate to replace it.

As he aligned the plate, Edward couldn't help but marvel at how intricate a system his automail was. He had no words to describe half of what he saw beneath its metal surface, and he doubted he would ever understand more than a fraction of the way it worked. A melancholy smile spread over his face as he replaced the screws, thinking of the countless hours Winry must have spent on the two pieces he now wore. As he tightened the last screw, the faint smile on Ed's face faded as a thought he had never before considered came to mind.

The automail Winry had greeted him with in Central had been near-perfect, though, according to his younger brother, there had been scant days between the earthquakes in Lior and Central and the day he returned. It couldn't have been enough time to craft two full automail limbs, even for Winry Rockbell. "She didn't know," Ed breathed in amazement, his eyes fixed on his metal limb. "She _couldn't_ have known what the earthquake meant. She must have made them before then." Edward fell silent again, as if the epiphany he had been unable to keep bottled within his thoughts was still too large to fully comprehend.

"She did this for me, without knowing whether I would ever come back," he said to the empty room, finally able to boil his thoughts down to a single sentence. "She—" As if the single thought had broken some dam around his heart and mind, realizations about the past ten years of his life flooded through Edward's mind, leaving him drained of energy and full of understanding. "She loved me," he whispered, finally understanding the small gestures of his childhood friend that he had thought strange, the words she said that he had misunderstood, and the tears she shed that he had never before comprehended. "It was all because _she loved me_."

Unbidden, his mind conjured again the memory of her, this time of her weeping form during their visit to Rush Valley. The memory was so strong that Edward swore he could still hear her stifled sobs as if they came from the corner just outside his field of vision. His heart clenched in his chest, and he had the distinct feeling that he might sick up. "I left her," he continued in a bare whisper, as if the idea was still too large to be thought silently but too frightening to speak out loud. "She loved me, and I left her. I left her without so much as a goodbye."

Perhaps the knowledge that he would never again see the world he called home and the people within it sharpened Edward's mind, or perhaps it was simply the fact that he was older than he had been, with the richer understanding of maturity, but for the first time he felt as if he understood Winry Rockbell. He had thought her no more than a childhood friend, but she had loved him. She had waited for him despite the knowledge that he ran headlong into danger, that there had been no room in his mind and his heart for anything or anyone except the quest for the Philospher's Stone and his brother's body. She had waited with the blind hope that he would return even after his sudden disappearance. She had waited, so steadfast in her conviction of his return that she had crafted limbs perfectly suited to him even after two years of growth.

And for the first time Edward understood how much he had relied on her, had drawn hope and strength from her constant presence. It had been her smile, her warmth that kept him sane during the dark hours when he'd doubted his abilities to fulfill his promise to Alphonse. It had been the thought of her tears and anger that kept him from tumbling headlong into destructive fanaticism over his quest. It had been the knowledge of her waiting presence that sustained him, just as his fervor and conviction had sustained Alphonse. In his own way, he had loved her, though he had never before been able to admit it. He had loved her, and he had left her without a thought, having been too blind, too young, and too emotionally preoccupied to understand the magnitude of his actions.

Ed felt the heat of tears well up in his eyes and found himself unable to swallow past the lump in his throat as he thought of what he had left behind. Biting his lip to keep the sob that threatened to escape at bay, he drew his left hand over his eyes, dashing away the tears that threatened to fall. Perhaps it was his curse to always learn the truth too late.

A knock on the outside door cut through the silence in the room, surprising Ed. He stood up and attempted to gain control of his emotions, but the knocking ceased and he heard Al's voice greeting whoever was outside. "Ed! Come on out!" Alphonse called, his voice muffled by the door. "I invited Sara over for dinner and she came early. Come out and say hello!"

Pain blossomed in Edward's eyes and he took a deep shuddering breath. "I'll be out in a minute," he promised, forcing the waver out of his voice. The prospect of seeing Sara felt like a blow to the stomach; her every feature already reminded him of Winry, and now he would be reminded of what he had done, of what he had lost. With slow, methodical movements, Ed rolled his sleeve back down and pulled on his gloves, covering the silver automail. Steeling himself, he opened the door to his room and stepped out to face his brother and the mirror image of the woman he loved.

* * *

Al and Sara were sitting on the floor when Ed emerged from his room. At the sound of his footsteps, Sara looked up from the dark grey cat lounging in her lap and smiled. "Hello, Edward." Something must have changed in his face at her words, for her expression turned concerned and she continued, "Are you feeling alright?"

Ed forced a weak smile onto his face and waved his hand at Al, who had jumped up at Sara's question. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he reassured, "just been studying too much. I'm going to take a walk around the block and get some air. I'll be back soon." Without waiting for a response, he slipped out through the main door.

* * *

Once safely separated by the thick wooden door, Ed rested his forehead against the wall and slid to his knees, his breathing ragged. He thought he had been prepared for Sara, but when she had smiled at him with Winry's smile, it had been all he could do to stay upright. Her smile, her look of concern, were all too familiar to him, each a painful reminder of the one he'd left behind. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself back to his feet. He had to keep his distance from Sara Rockbell, lest her smile and his memories drive him insane. **

* * *

****Additional Notes:**  
October 9, 1914 - Antwerp, Belgium falls to German troops after the German army invades Belgium on August 4. The invasion forced Great Britain to declare war on Germany for disregarding a treaty that guaranteed Belgium neutrality. The fort of Antwerp was beseiged from August 20 until its fall on October 9, and was only defended by its own garrison after Belgium soldiers retreated to avoid being trapped by enemy forces. 

Aerodynamics research - The period 1918-1939 is considered the "Golden Age of Aviation" for both the innovations achieved during the period and the grand prizes that were awarded for said innovations and achievements. However, it is important to note that aerodynamics research is not the same as aeronautics research. Aeronautics research concerns lighter-than-air vehicles such as zepplins, while aerodynamics research during this period focused on developing wing shapes and materials.


	3. Interlude in Starlight

**Dedication: **Dedicated (with permission) to the talented and generous Vic Mignogna, for his portrayal of Edward Elric in the _Fullmetal Alchemist _series and movie, which inspired this whole crazy madness to begin with.

**Interlude in Starlight **

A gust of wind rushes by, bringing with it the dusty scent of drying leaves, and I can't help but shiver. Though it is only October, the wind carries with it a chill, a hint of winter to come, a feeling that has only intensified since the sun set. Still, I merely pull my coat closer to my body and continue my meandering walk, moving from one pool of yellow lamplight to the next. I have no real purpose or destination in mind for my journey, except that I needed time to think, and the best way to do that was to stay late working at the lab, and take the longest, most wandering route home afterwards.

I dreamed about her again last night, about Winry. This time, she was here, in New York. She walked through the door as if it was the most natural thing in the world and smiled as she met my eyes. In two long strides, she crossed the room to wrap her arms around me. Burying her face in my neck, she whispered, "I love you. I've waited so long to see you again."

The long denied words spilled from my mouth in response, "I love you too." Her arms gripped me tighter at the admission, as if she was afraid I would disappear in smoke if she let go. I continued whispering into her hair, wishing I could make a thousand apologies, but all that came out was a simple "I'm sorry for making you wait."

And before I could do anything more, she disappeared before my eyes, the warm softness of her against me fading as her body turned to smoke. I woke then, the sunlight in my face.

In my dream, I knew it was her, and not this world's version of her. There are some in this world say that every person is destined for only one person, that their souls call out to each other and they feel a sense of _rightness_ , of happiness, of contentment. Maybe some part of my dream recalled this superstition and applied it. I don't believe in the idea, but somehow, in my dream, I knew it was Winry who walked through that door.

Her hair had smelled of lilacs and freshly cut metal, and even now, more than half a day after the dream faded, I still recall how real it all felt, how I woke with the lingering warmth of her in my arms.

This wasn't the first dream I've had of her. They always end the same way, though in the previous one I had opened the door to the little suite of rooms Al and I now rented and found myself stepping into the Rockbell house. That time I had kissed her. The dream before I had been on a train and she was waiting for me at the Risembool station. And before that, she knocked on the door of our cabin on the ship Al and I took across the Atlantic Ocean. And on and on and on.

I think I've had sixteen different versions of this dream, all slightly different, all ending the same. Every time I've woken up alone, the dream lingering in my mind like perfume. I sometimes wish that I could forget her, could make these dreams end. I don't want to wake up feeling so achingly alone. But the greater part of me wishes fervently that the dreams will continue, because this is all I have left of her, these bittersweet dreams spun of memory and longing.

The thought of how I realized too late how much I loved her makes me raise my eyes heavenward, and I can't help but wonder if there really is something out there, some deity that watches over all the worlds who decided to teach me a lesson for being an unapologetic atheist. The moment passes and I find myself staring at the stars above my head, unconsciously picking out the constellations from my childhood.

It still surprises me sometimes that the stars I see here are the same ones I saw back in my own world. Somehow, it feels like the stars should be different, that they shouldn't look just like the ones I used to see lying in the grass with Al and Winry on a cool autumn night. The constellation that catches my eye is the Three Apples, though in this world it is known as The Bear. It was Winry's favorite because she never saw a way for Al and I to fight over it, being a set of three and all, though we did try our hardest to prove her wrong.

I wish... I wish I could make myself believe that as I'm staring up into the sky on this cool autumn night, Winry's staring out into the same sky. That thought used to comfort me as I traveled with Al, thinking that even though we were on our own, there were people who cared about us staring up at the same stars we were saw. But now, I know that the stars I see every night aren't the same ones she sees, that I am truly cut off from her in this world. I wish that the same starlight still fell on both of us, that there was even that faint, wavering connection between us. But all I have left are my dreams and memories, and starlight that leaves me colder and emptier than the wind ever could.

* * *

**Additional Notes:  
**Constellations: The Bear/Three Apples - Both of these refer to the constellation known as Ursa Major, which is at least partially visible from the Northern Hemisphere at all times of the year. Ursa Major contains the Big Dipper, and is identified by almost all civilizations as a bear. However, the Greeks identified the three brightest stars of the constellation as the Three Apples, which inspired the myth of the immortality granting golden apples of Hesperides that were included in the labours of Hercules (Heracles). However, they should not be confused with the golden apple that caused discord between Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite and indirectly began the Trojan War. 


	4. One Traveler

**One Traveler**

"So Ed, with the help of the woman Rose he'd befriended, managed to hide the priest's radio transmitter in his holding cell. When the fraud Father Cornello came to gloat about how he had managed to fool the entire town with his 'miracles', everything he said was broadcasted to the townspeople. He wasn't very pleased with Brother, but it was better that the locals learned the truth about their priest sooner than later. In hindsight, broadcasting the priest's confession live was probably not the most subtle way of doing it, but that's my brother for you. Edward's never been one for subtle." Alphonse Elric finished his heavily revised tale of the brothers' first adventure in Lior with a smile, and the woman sitting beside him, a grey cat on her lap, burst into laughter.

"The Edward of your stories certainly isn't very subtle," Sara Rockbell agreed as she stroked Mustang. "Although I'll have to take your word for it that he's that way in real life too." Her voice trailed off at the sound of jingling keys from the other side of the main door, and she dropped her eyes to the cat in her lap as the door opened and Edward Elric entered. Without a word to either the blonde woman or his younger brother, Edward crossed the room and sequestered himself behind his bedroom door.

"On the other hand, maybe he is just as unsubtle as you say he is," Sara said, a hint of melancholy in her voice as her gaze lingered on the closed door.

Al turned to follow her gaze and a pained look came over his face when his eyes fell on his brother's bedroom door. "Sara—" he began, trailing off uselessly when he found that he had no words to explain his brother's behavior.

Sara smiled at the younger man who had inexplicably become her close friend and tried to force the melancholy out of her voice. "It's alright, Al," she reassured him. "Sometimes people just don't get along, and there's no reason for it. I just wish I could get to know your brother the way you do. From your stories, he seems like such a brave, dedicated person, someone it would be very easy to fall in love with." At the last words, Sara's eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could not believe the words that had escaped her lips.

Silently, Al reached out and touched her arm with tentative fingers, and Sara turned, acknowledging the gesture with a forced smile. "I'll talk to him—" Al promised.

"Don't," she interrupted as she shooed Mustang off her lap and stood up. Suddenly self-conscious, Sara shook her head and brushed off her skirt. "I think I should leave. I'll meet you tomorrow for lunch?" Without another word, she picked up her bulging medicine bag from beside the door and slipped out into the hallway.

Left alone, Al absentmindedly stroked Hawkeye, so full of conflicting thoughts that he did not even hear the pleased, rumbling purrs from the warm puddle of fur in his lap.

* * *

Sara's inadvertent confession still lingering in his mind, Alphonse went through the motions of preparing dinner, chopping the slightly wilting vegetables he'd picked up at the grocer's and dropping them into the simmering pot of soup on the stovetop. When the vegetables were soft and a taste of the broth told him all was ready, he ladled out two servings and went to knock on his brother's closed door, determined to take some action on behalf of both his older brother and his friend. 

"Brother?" Al called through the door. "Dinner's ready." When no response came, he frowned and knocked louder, adding, "Sara went home. You can come out now."

Half a minute went by in silence, then the doorknob turned and Ed appeared. "Hey Al. I didn't hear you knocking; I fell asleep," he said, stepping out of his small bedroom and into the communal area containing both living and kitchen space. Al cast a critical eye over his older brother's appearance, but Ed's clothes and hair were unwrinkled by sleep and his eyes and voice were too clear for someone who had just woken up. Still, the younger brother let the lie stand, knowing it would be fruitless to argue.

Though he had learned early in life that if Ed _really_ didn't want to talk about something, arguing was not going to change his mind, it was only recently that Al had given up trying. Perhaps it was just because they were growing older, but Al could not shake the feeling that some wall had grown up around his brother, some barrier that even he could not break through. The thought worried Al more than he would like to admit and was part of the reason why he had been so eager to befriend Sara Rockbell.

He had hoped that the sight of a familiar face, the prospect of a new but familiar friendship, would draw Ed out of whatever shell he had constructed around himself. Unfortunately, while Alphonse himself had responded to the familiar face and become good friends with Sara, Ed only retreated further into himself. With a shake of his head and a sigh, Alphonse followed his older brother to the table where two steaming bowls of soup and a half loaf of bread waited.

The two young men dug into their supper of chicken soup with noodles in silence, though Al shot covert glances at his brother throughout the meal. "This soup tastes really good," Ed suddenly said, breaking the silence. "It's warming."

Al's smile lit up his face, and he answered, "Thanks. I got the recipe from Mrs. Adams, the grocer's wife." Breaking off a chunk of bread from the half loaf, he continued, "So how was work at the lab today, Brother?"

"The same as usual," came Edward's answer through a mouthful of bread. "Professor Roberts wants to do a large-scale test of our latest airfoil to see if our current research holds up, but we don't have anything in the lab big enough to test it with. He's already got me started building the thing, the mad old man."

"I'm sure you and the professor will figure something out; you always do," Al said, attempting to soothe his ponytail-wearing brother before he could work himself into a rage. "Still, why don't we have lunch tomorrow, at the place near the Times office that you like so much? It will do you good to get out of the lab, and keep you from killing Professor Roberts."

"Are you bribing me, Al?" Ed asked, a look of amusement on his face.

"Come on, Brother," the younger Elric wheedled as he ignored the question. "I've barely seen you the last couple months. You almost never come home before dark, and when you do, you lock yourself in your room all night. Come on, I'll even buy lunch."

Edward's eyes narrowed and Al tried his best to look innocent. "You _are_ bribing me," Ed said, suspicious. "But I'll come. It would be good to get out of the lab for a bit." At his younger brother's widening grin, Edward couldn't help as his expression relaxed into a faint smile. Even after four years, he still loved to see Alphonse's smile, to know that his younger brother could smile again, to know that he had at last made things right.

Finishing the last of his soup, Al stood and took his bowl to the washbasin. "I've got an assignment to take some pictures at the new tunnel on Canal Street," he said over his shoulder. "You'll probably be asleep by the time I get back, so I'll see you for lunch tomorrow?" His mouth full of soup and bread, Edward nodded as his younger brother shut the front door behind himself.

* * *

Though the agreed-upon restaurant was much closer to his place of employment than his brother's, Alphonse still took off work early to hurry over to Ed's lab, knowing his brother wouldn't refuse to come to lunch if Al showed up on his doorstep. This time, the knocks on the door went unanswered and Al let himself in, following the sounds of hammering until he found Edward bent over a workbench, pounding away at a large sheet of curved metal with a hammer. 

"Don't you usually use rivets or screws with metal?" Al asked, taking advantage of a lull in the noise as Ed paused to push his bangs out of his eyes.

"I'm just working a dent out of this thing," came the explanation, accompanied by Edward's displeased glare at the offending metal sheet. "Is it lunchtime, Alphonse?"

Al nodded and glanced around the laboratory. "I was hoping you wouldn't forget. Is the professor around?"

"No, he went for lunch himself," Ed explained as he straightened his clothes and gloves. "Let's go. Working on that panel gave me an appetite."

* * *

Though he had been walking through the streets of New York City for the better part of two years, as he accompanied his brother to the agreed upon restaurant, Alphonse could not help but tilt his head back to stare at the buildings towering over them. "Sometimes this city just makes me feel so _small_. Even with all alchemists were able to do, we never built anything like this. Sometimes I get the feeling that they're staring down at us as much as we're staring up at them." 

At the sight of the elegant wedge-shaped skyscraper ahead that stood as a sentinel between Fifth and Broadway, Alphonse added, "Especially that one. I always get the feeling that it's looking at me like I'm doing something wrong by walking near it."

"Then just stop looking at them," came Edward's matter-of-fact answer. He gave his younger brother a sideways glance and chuckled. "Maybe you should have become an architect instead of a photographer, Al."

"Maybe, but I like photography," came the answer. "Besides, I just think they're amazing to look at. I don't really want to build them." With another soft laugh, Edward fell silent, looking on in amusement as Al stopped several times to frame shots of the soaring buildings backlit by sunlight with his hands, bemoaning the fact that he'd left his camera behind.

Though the walk to the restaurant wasn't a long one, Edward still breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the warm establishment. At his younger brother's questioning glance, Ed explained, "My arm was starting to get cold. It's just uncomfortable, nothing to worry about." The answer seemed to satisfy as Alphonse relaxed and took a seat at a small table with four chairs.

After placing their orders with a waitress, Ed turned his attention back to Al. "So how does the new tunnel look?" he asked. "Get any good pictures?"

Al nodded, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "I did. Got a great shot of cars lining up and snaking around some skyscrapers," Al elaborated. "But I don't think the Times will use it. I think my editor is going to claim it's too artsy." He stopped speaking as something behind Ed caught his attention. "Hey Sara, over here!" he called, standing up and waving.

"Sara?" Ed repeated, a flash of panic in his eyes. When Al turned back to face his brother, though, there was no panic left, just narrowed eyes and a glare strong enough to kill horses. "You invited Sara to lunch and dragged me along," he hissed.

The accusation made Al quail despite his belief that bringing his brother and his friend together was the right thing to do. "Brother, please, be nice," Al pleaded, keeping his voice low. As Sara approached the table, he pulled out a chair and smiled widely at the young doctor. "Look who decided to come join us for lunch today," he said, gesturing to Edward, who smiled stiffly when dark blue eyes lit upon him.

"Hello, Edward," Sara said with a smile, though Ed thought he detected a hint of red in her face. "The scar's fading, I see."

Ed touched his cheek, where he had done what both the doctor and his brother warned him against and picked out his own stitches, and felt the raised scar tissue. "It's barely noticeable," he answered, then fell silent. The awkward silence lingered, broken only by the waitress's return for Sara's order.

"So like I was telling Ed earlier," Al began, his eyes darting nervously between the blonds on either side of him, "I got some great shots on Canal Street last night. I'm always surprised by how many people this city holds. It's nothing like back home, is it, Ed?"

"No, it's not," came the curt answer.

Cringing inwardly, Al tried again, this time shifting his attention to Sara, "How are things at the clinic today?"

"Busy," Sara answered, turning her attention to Alphonse though her eyes still flickered over to Edward of their own volition. "We've been getting a lot of children catching colds."

The need for awkward small talk soon ceased with the arrival of their food, and the trio busied themselves with hot sandwiches and the occasional comment on their meals. Edward, true to form, finished first, though he stomped on the impulse to leave immediately, waiting instead for Alphonse and Sara to be done before standing up.

"I should get back before Professor Roberts starts using that hammer on my head," he said, forcing a smile onto his face as he made his excuses. He nodded to Sara and added, "I'm sorry if I made you feel awkward. If I had known that this was your lunch date, I wouldn't have let Al drag me along." Without waiting for an answer from either of them, Ed made his escape, keeping himself to a dignified walk until he cleared the restaurant. Once outside though, he hurried as if the very legions of a hell he didn't believe in were on his heels.

* * *

Sara sipped from her teacup, keeping her eyes fixed on her friend, who was studiously attempting to avoid her gaze. "Alphonse," she finally said, setting down the teacup. 

Unable to avoid the direct address, Al lifted his head to meet the doctor's eyes. "Yes, Sara?" he asked, forcing the reflexive tremor out of his voice. Angry, Sara's resemblance to Winry was magnified a thousand fold in Al's eyes, and he felt the distinct urge to check the area within her arm's reach for wrenches.

"Why did you trick your brother into coming to lunch today?" she asked, the calmness of her voice belying the very visible anger in her eyes.

"I wanted you to get to know my brother for real, and not just from my stories," came the quiet answer. Al dropped his gaze to his coffee cup, taking a sip to occupy himself and avoid looking at the woman across from him, the friend he had hoped to help with his seemingly innocent plot.

The two of them sat in silence as Sara stared at the top of Alphonse's bowed head and Al continued nursing his half empty cup of coffee. "Al," Sara finally said, her voice soft, "you're sweet for trying, you know." At the cryptic comment, the younger man looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. "I know what you were trying to do," she elaborated. "But I know that the Edward I've developed feelings for is a fantasy. He's your brother on a marble pedestal, all the imperfections too far away to notice." She smiled as she stood up, and Al couldn't help but notice the mingled sadness and anger in her eyes. "Your brother doesn't want to get to know me; he's made that abundantly clear. I'd rather you didn't try to force me on him again."

Hastily dropping enough money on the table to cover the meal, Al stood and followed the blonde as she headed towards the exit. "Sara, I'm sorry," he apologized as he caught up outside the restaurant. "I guess I wasn't thinking. I just wanted the three of us to be friends, that's all." When she didn't look at him, he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving away. "Sara, please don't be mad."

"I'm not angry," she said, though the all-too-familiar light in her eyes told Al the truth.

"Your eyes still are," Al pointed out. "Though I'm starting to think I'd prefer it if you would just hit me and let it out. It's a little disconcerting for you to sound so calm the way your eyes are flashing."

The accurate but unexpected statement made Sara blink in surprise, and the anger faded to be replaced by amusement. "Al, you may be the first person I've ever met who actually wants me to hit you when I got angry," she answered with a chuckle. With a genuine smile and no trace of anger in her eyes, Sara gave Al's hand a reassuring squeeze before she began walking towards her clinic. "I'll see you soon," she promised over her shoulder, leaving Alphonse to make his way back to his own office, puzzling over the differences and similarities between the women he knew as Winry and Sara.

* * *

Though the late autumn sun set early, Al ignored the dark sky and walked home at a leisurely pace, enjoying the icy kiss of wind on his face even as he held his overcoat close. As he left the offices and businesses behind, the streets took on a warmer glow, and Al couldn't help but smile and quicken his steps. The bright rectangles of light adorning every building peered down at him, silent reminders that he too had family waiting at home, that it was Edward's turn to make dinner, and his older brother never took kindly to having to wait very long for Al to come home. 

With that thought spurring him on, it did not take long for Alphonse to reach the familiar four story building where he and his brother rented a small suite of rooms. A quick glance at the façade showed that the third story windows were all glowing brightly, reassuring the young man that his brother was home and probably impatient, and he made his way up the two flights of stairs.

Upon entering the familiar main room, Al was surprised to receive no greeting from his older brother, who sat at their small dinner table, a book opened in front of him. Confused, he glanced at the kitchen counter, which was spotless, though the oven was on. "Ed?" he asked as he hung up his coat.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," came Edward's brusque reply as he turned a page in his book. "Professor Roberts' wife sent me home with a cottage pie."

"That's nice of her," Alphonse ventured, attempting to gauge his older brother's mood. When there was no response, he frowned at Edward but said nothing more, busying himself with pouring saucers of milk for the cats, who soon came to investigate.

In silence, Edward removed the covered casserole from the oven and brought it to the table along with dishes. Dinner was a quiet affair, punctuated only by the sounds of clinking silverware and dishes. Though he was grateful to Edward's professor and his wife for intermittently sending food to them, Al barely registered the taste of the mashed potatoes and chopped beef that he swallowed, being too intent on discovering the reason behind his brother's silence.

"How was work today?" Al asked.

Ed's answer came without him pausing in his meal. "Work was fine."

A frown on his face, Al tried again. "What about that panel you were working on? Did you get it all smoothed out again?"

Gold eyes stayed fixed to the table despite the questioning. "Yes." Ed swallowed his last forkful and stood up to take his plate to the washbasin.

"Brother, are you mad at me?" Al asked. When Edward paused, he took his chance and continued, "Look, I'm sorry about tricking you into having lunch with Sara today, but I just wanted us to all be friends." His voice caught as he added, "Just like before when it was you, me, and Winry."

At the mention of their childhood friend, the plate tumbled out of Ed's hand and into the washbasin, the clatter resonating through the quiet room. "Sara isn't Winry," the older man said tightly, "and you shouldn't try to pretend like she is."

"I know that," Al responded as he brought his own plate over. Glancing surreptitiously at Edward as he placed his plate in the washbasin, the younger Elric caught a pained look in his brother's eyes before his brother bent his head and began washing the dishes. "I'm not trying to use Sara to replace Winry, Brother. She's a different person, but I still want to be her friend." He shrugged and sighed, unable to put into words the way he felt, and finally settled for, "Sometimes, I still think this place is so different that it's just a dream. Sara's _real_, and she reminds me that this _world_ is real, that some things can be the same here. She just… makes me feel connected to this place."

When Edward paused in his work, Al hoped that his clumsily phrased reasoning had affected his brother, but all Ed did was give a sad chuckle and remarked, "You sounded just like Alfons for a minute there. He once told me that he was a real person, that the people I met weren't just part of my dreams. It's funny, isn't it? I became his friend because he reminded me of you, and, now you're starting to remind me of him."

"Alfons is gone, Brother," Al said. As the words left his mouth, he wondered if it was the wrong thing to say, if instead of drawing his brother out, he was merely going to send Edward back into his stony silence. Figuring that since the words were out, the best thing he could do was finish, Al continued, "But you still need someone to ground you here. Why not Sara?"

At the question, Ed's expression changed to one Alphonse couldn't read, though he understood the tightening of Ed's mouth that meant his brother was going to deny everything. "I don't need anyone to 'ground me here,' Al. I have you back, that's all that matters." Edward said, returning his attention and energy to the dirty dishes.

"Yes you do," Al answered, his voice so soft that it seemed he was almost talking to himself. "Brother, you spend your time doing nothing but work unless I make you do something else. It's almost as if you've been sleepwalking through every day, and even though I'm glad we're together again, you have to live your own life. Remember how you once told me that this is our world now? _You_ have to live in it, because this world is real. And part of living is making friends, letting people care about you."

"I can't be friends with Sara, Al," Ed answered, his right hand tightening around a soapy fork. "I just can't," he repeated again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Why not? She wants to be friends with you," Al pressed, reaching over and removing the fork from his brother's grip before it became mangled.

Ed looked distinctly uncomfortable at the question, and his eyes darted towards the door to his room. "Because…" he began, then changed tactics. "Al, I don't want to talk about this."

Al peered worriedly at his brother. It was rare for Edward to admit something was amiss, and Al wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste. "What's wrong?"

Keeping his head bowed to avoid Al's gaze, Ed whispered, "I loved Winry, Al. I loved her, and I left her. I can't be friends with Sara because every time I look at her, I think of how I left Winry." With a shuddering breath, he added, "I'm no better than our father for leaving her."

As the implications of his older brother's confession sank in, Alphonse was torn between shedding tears for his brother's loss and throwing punches for said brother's continued stubborn blindness. Opting to discover more about the situation before taking action, Al asked, "Brother, when did you realize that you loved Winry?"

The confession seemed to have sapped Edward of his strength, for he answered simply, without any pretense or denial. "Back in June, a couple days after you first met Sara."

Al felt tears well in his eyes as he understood his brother's loss. "It's not your fault, Ed," he said, firmly taking the dishes out of his brother's hands and steering the older man back to the dining table. He continued speaking as he guided his silent brother into a chair, "You didn't leave her despite loving her; you were just too young to know your own feelings. You can't blame yourself for that, and Winry knew you well, she would understand what happened." Sitting down across the table from Edward, Alphonse took his brother's hands in his own, the gesture causing Ed to look up. "You can't live your whole life regretting this, Brother. Winry wouldn't want you to; she would want to know you were happy."

Taking a deep breath, Al said a prayer to whatever anonymous deity might be listening for protection before he spoke again. "You told me our father died so that you could go home. He loved us, and he loved Mother. He didn't leave her because he was malicious, Ed. He was a man who made bad choices and had to deal with the consequences. That doesn't make him a bad man; it just makes him human." Tightening his grip on his brother's hands, Al added, "I know it's hard, Brother, but I wish you could forgive him someday. He just made mistakes that he had to live with, like we did."

A long, contemplative silence stretched between the brothers before Edward untangled his hands from Alphonse's. "I guess making bad choices runs in the family," Ed said with a faintly bitter laugh. At his younger brother's pained expression, Edward's expression softened and he offered a wistful smile. "I've hated him for so long that I can't stop overnight, but I will try." With a sigh, Ed pushed himself away from the table and stood.

"What about Sara?" Al asked tentatively. "Will you at least try to get to know her? To be her friend?"

A shadow fell over Edward's face and he shook his head. "I don't know, Al," Ed confessed. "Seeing her today felt like a punch in the stomach, but I have to admit that I've been curious about her, about what she's like. I have to wonder how she's like Winry, and where their personalities diverge."

"You could talk to her next time she's over," Al suggested. "Just to get to know Sara."

Ed nodded, though there was still hesitancy in the motion. "I guess I could do that." He began walking towards his room, but stopped when an idea occurred to him. "Al?"

"Yes?" The younger man turned away from the dishes and waited for his brother to speak again.

"But what if they're so similar that I end up having feelings for Sara? Would I be being disloyal to Winry?"

A thrill of hope shot through Al, but he schooled his expression to neutrality, unwilling to let his brother know that he had hopes for such an occurrence. "You shouldn't think so far ahead," he admonished. "It may not happen. But if it does, maybe it's fate giving you a second chance for happiness."

At the answer, Ed gave a sarcastic laugh and continued walking to his room. "There's no such thing as fate, Al."

* * *

**Historical Notes:**  
_The Tunnel on Canal Street_ - now known as the Holland Tunnel, the tunnel connects Manhattan Island, New York with Jersey City, New Jersey. The tunnel was first opened for traffic on November 13, 1927.  
_  
Wedge-shaped skyscraper at the corner of Fifth and Broadway_ - The Fuller Building, more commonly known as the Flatiron Building. It was completed in 1902 and continues to house office space to this day. The Flatiron is popularly thought to be one of the oldest surviving skyscrapers in New York City. 

_Cottage Pie_ - a dish made of chopped roast beef in gravy topped with mashed potatoes, similar to shepherd's pie except made with beef instead of lamb. Cottage and shepherd pies were popular recipes in 1920's cookbooks.

_One Traveler_ - a reference to the Robert Frost poem "The Road Not Taken."


	5. Skin Deep

**Skin Deep**

Though the occasional spring breeze still carried a chill that warranted pulling a coat close, the trio that ambled along the tree-lined path seemed content to continue their walk in the ever-strengthening sunshine, as if unable to wait for true warmth before celebrating the end of the cold weather for another year. Edward Elric laughed as he picked up the tale where his younger brother left off. "We were such _idiots_," he marveled after the telling. "Sometimes I still can't believe you got taken in by that woman, claiming to be a teacher, then a nurse, then a nun, all the while robbing the town blind."

"I was young!" Alphonse Elric protested, though the matching grin on his face showed that he too saw humor in the mistakes of his younger self. "I'm sorry I wasn't as cynical as _you_ were back then, Brother."

"It probably didn't hurt that she was pretty, did it, Alphonse?" Sara Rockbell teased as she dug her left elbow into the younger man's ribs. In response, Al sputtered and blushed, a reaction which only sent the older Elric into another fit of laughter.

"Leave it to Sara to get right to the truth of the matter," Ed said as he met the blonde's smiling eyes. Every time he looked at her, Edward still felt a twinge in his heart, though the long winter evenings he and his brother had spent chatting with Sara over tea and coffee had done much to reduce the feeling of a physical kick to the stomach he used to feel at the sight of her. Yet, when the light played in her hair a certain way or she pursed her lips in a particularly Winry-like fashion, he would still trip over her name and find it suddenly hard to breath, as if the memory of the woman he'd left behind had gained substance and knocked the very breath out of him.

A sharp stinging at his left shoulder jerked Ed out of his reverie, and he shook his head to clear the thoughts. "What did you hit me for?" he demanded.

"You were looking at me again," Sara explained unapologetically. "And you didn't answer when I asked you what you were looking at!"

"I just got lost in thought for a moment! Besides, since when was it a crime to look at you?" Ed groused as he glared at his brother, who stood on Sara's left. "Damn it, Al, I really wish you hadn't told her it was okay to hit me to get my attention." Another slap of her hand, and Edward danced backwards, keeping a wary eye on the blonde. "What was _that_ for?!" he all but roared.

"You should watch your language in public," Sara replied primly. "You are too foul-mouthed for your own good, Edward."

His voice full of barely contained mirth, Al interjected, "Now, play nice, children, or you won't get any chocolate cake when we get home." The interruption earned Al twin dagger-like glares that he shrugged off; he fully intended to make good on his threat if his friend and his brother didn't start acting their age.

* * *

The meandering park path led the three under tall, slender trees, their branches blurry with budding leaves, until it dipped by the edge of a large pond where a solitary duck drifted. "Al and I missed you at dinner last night," Sara said to the ponytail-wearing man as she took a seat on a mound of dry rocks. "Are you that afraid of my cooking, Ed?" she asked, a half-smile on her face as she watched the blond scoop up a handful of pebbles and methodically pitch them into the water.

"What?" The sound of his name startled Ed out of his thoughts and he jumped, sending a shower of pebbles flying from his hand. "Huh?" he continued, turning to face her with a look of confusion on his face.

"Sara thinks you didn't have dinner with us last night because you're afraid of her cooking," Alphonse supplied, his voice distracted as he produced a crust of bread from his coat pocket and attempted to lure the duck closer to the pond's edge.

Ed whipped around to address Alphonse, but merely shook his head and returned his attention to Sara when he saw what Al was doing. "The professor was meeting with one of our sponsors at the University yesterday, and he wanted me to go with him. The man hates speaking in public but having someone there who knows his research almost as well as he does helps him focus." Ed paused for a moment and shrugged, "Or he just wanted me around to move his demonstration model." He let the rest of the rocks slide out of his hand and dusted off his gloves. "But it took longer than we expected, so I stayed at the University for dinner and talked to some of the other researchers who were there meeting with their patrons."

"Meet anyone interesting?" Sara asked as she gestured to the patch of grass on her left.

Scarcely glancing at the indicated spot, Ed walked around the seated woman and threw himself to the gravel-covered ground at her right, heedless of the damage he was doing to his overcoat. "There were a few. I met a Dr. Shaw who was visiting from Massachusetts. He claimed that he and a research partner have invented a respiration machine of some sort. I looked at the plans but couldn't make much of them; all I could tell was that it was a large apparatus that a person lies in. I think the general principles have to do with regulating the air pressure around a human body." He trailed off with a shrug, casting a sideways glance at the woman seated next to him.

Sara furrowed her brow in though at Edward's words. "It would certainly help a lot of people if there was a way to make sure their lungs functioned when they can't breathe on their own," she mused, watching the sunlight dance on the pond's gently rippling surface.

"There was a little boy in the clinic once who died because his polio paralyzed him, and there was nothing I could do. But does it do those people any good if they're confined to a machine? Doesn't seem like much of a life if you're confined to a box." Feeling eyes on her, Sara stopped voicing her thoughts out loud and turned to Edward, whose expression was a mixture of faint bemusement and unexpected confusion. "What?"

Dark gold eyes blinked rapidly as their owner snapped back to reality, and Ed shook himself before speaking. "Nothing, my thoughts just drifted for a minute." Without another word, he stood and gathered another handful of pebbles, allowing the act of pitching the small rocks into the pond to simultaneously cover up his confusion and help him regain his composure. Sara's eyes followed his movements, a pensive frown settling on her lips as she puzzled over the taciturn, and often downright enigmatic, man she had come to call a friend.

* * *

The sun was low on the horizon by the time Al gave up on the duck, and upon noticing the hour, he immediately led his brother and the young doctor out of the park, apologizing all the way. Ed kept pace with his companions, though his attention was only half focused on their conversation. Sara's reaction to his news about Dr. Shaw's invention had surprised him; even though in his mind Edward knew that Sara and Winry were different individuals, there was still some part of him that refused to acknowledge the fact, that expected the quiet, efficient doctor to react to the world in the exact same way as the hot-headed, gifted mechanic.

"And this woman absolutely refuses to let her daughter be vaccinated!" Sara exclaimed, the vehemence in her voice causing Edward to turn his attention to her, curious as to its cause. "She claims that vaccinations are just putting diseases in her daughter's body and that she wasn't going to let me kill her daughter! I told her that the vaccine is safe, that it's not even made up of smallpox but a similar and significantly less fatal disease, but she just wouldn't believe me. She was just _convinced_ that I was lying to her, that I was trying to kill her daughter. And the little girl is sitting right there, listening to her mother scream about how I was some kind of disease wielding murderer!" Sara stopped in mid-tirade to draw a deep breath, and Al took the opportunity to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

The touch seemed to calm her, and Sara gave the younger man a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I know I can get carried away talking about my patients," she apologized.

"It's alright," Alphonse assured her. "It shows that you love what you do and that you really care about your patients."

At Al's words, Ed could not help but smile inwardly, thinking of the countless times when a similar blonde had rambled on as she tested her latest metal masterpiece; perhaps Sara had more in common with Winry than he gave her credit for. "Why didn't you just stick the girl with the needle anyway?" he asked. "Just because her mother's an idiot doesn't mean she should have to risk getting sick." Two pairs of eyes, one light brown and the other deep blue, turned to him, mirroring disbelief. "What?" he asked defensively. "It's true!"

Sara shook her head and sighed, turning her eyes heavenward. "That's illegal, Edward," she said. "I can't just walk around sticking needles into people." At his glare, she muttered, "Though I'm sure the police would understand if I did it to _you_."

"Since Ed didn't have dinner with us last night, why don't we plan on doing something together next Friday?" Al interrupted, casting his eyes about for inspiration to defuse the situation before his volatile brother could blow up again. His eyes fell on a bold advertisement tiled on the façade of a brick building as they passed, and he blurted out, "How about a movie?"

Surprised by the suggestion, Sara stopped in her tracks to peer at the advertisement in the fading sunlight. "_Street Angel_," she read aloud, "a tale of romance and redemption in Italy featuring Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell." Turning away from the advertisement to her companions, she gave Alphonse a curious look. "You really want to see this, Al?"

Finding himself suddenly on the spot, Alphonse hoped that the fading light would hide the heat that flared in his cheeks. "Sure," he stumbled, unwilling to admit that the idea had merely been an attempt to divert their attentions, "it sounds like it could be fun. You don't think so?"

Sara nodded as she tapped her lip thoughtfully with a finger. "I did like the two of them in _Seventh Heaven_," she mused. "So this might be worth seeing."

"You will come, won't you, Brother?" Al asked, turning his attention to Edward, who was frowning at the advertisement.

"'A tale of romance and redemption'?" Edward echoed skeptically. "Is this going to be one of those movies where everyone acts ridiculous but there's still a happy ending?" At his question, Alphonse breathed a heavy sigh and Sara shook her head as she resumed walking.

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Ed," the blonde woman said. "Whether you have any sort of emotion in that heart of yours. Sometimes I think I'd find a lump of ice or steel in that scrawny chest if I cut you open."

"I AM NOT SCRAWNY!" Edward bellowed, demonstrating the ample lung capacity he possessed, scrawny-chested or not. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING—"

Al shook his head and prodded his irate brother in the back, interrupting his rant and forcing him to resume walking. "Don't be so easily offended, Ed," he said. "Come with us to the movies. It'll be fun, and we'll even go to the Regent. Please?" Widening his eyes, Al turned his most pleading look on his brother, trying not to ruin the effect by smiling as he saw the signs of Ed's inevitable weakening.

"Fine!" Edward answered, the agreement so clipped that it sounded almost angry, though his next words, delivered in a near-whine, softened the effect considerably. "It's not fair; I'm always outnumbered."

"Someday you'll admit that you like spending time with other people, Ed," Sara promised, unable to hide the smile on her face. She gestured impatiently to the lagging brothers and added, "Come on you two! It still gets cold after dark, and I've never seen anyone walk so slowly."

* * *

**Obligatory Historical Notes: ****  
**_The University_ - New York University (NYU)

_Dr. Shaw from Massachusetts_ - Louis Agassiz Shaw of the Harvard School of Public Health invented the iron lung (a full-body respirator, more accurately called a negative pressure ventilator) in conjunction with Philip Drinker in 1928. The first use of the iron lung was on October 12, 1928, but a modified version is credited with saving the lives of polio sufferers in the mid 1900's who would otherwise have suffered respiratory failure due to paralysis of the diaphragm.

_Street Angel... featuring Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell_ - Street Angel was a black and white silent film released April 9, 1928. It is set in Naples, Italy and tells the tale of Maria (played by Janet Gaynor), a poor young woman on the run caught after attempting to steal medicine for her ill mother. While hiding with a traveling circus, Maria meets the portraitist Angelo (played by Charles Farrell), who falls in love with her and asks her to pose for his painting of the Virgin Mary. When Maria is caught and thrown in jail, Angelo is devastated and loses inspiration. Upon Maria's release from prison, she rescues Angelo from himself and they live happily ever after.

_Seventh Heaven_ - An earlier movie featuring Gaynor and Farrell, _Seventh Heaven_ is considered one of the most celebrated romances of the silent film era. Janet Gaynor also won the first Academy Award for Best Actress for _Seventh Heaven_.

_The Regent_ - Regent Theatre, opened in February 1913, was one of the first "cinema palaces" in the US. It possessed lavish interiors and had a symphony-sized orchestra to play live music specifically written to accompany the films. The Regent Theatre closed sometime between 1950 and 1965 but the building remains, currently housing the First Corinthian Baptist Church.


	6. Small Steps

**Small Steps**

A warm breeze whispered through the open windows of the office space, and scattered curses responded as employees in the Times office lunged to keep their stacked papers from blowing away. Alphonse smiled and waited for the air to calm again before picking up his camera from its position as temporary paperweight and returning it to its carrying case. "Alphonse!" a heavily accented voice called from behind him as Al pulled on his coat. "Alphonse!" At the sound of his name, Al turned to face the man who trotted up.

"Afternoon, Alexei," Al greeted his fellow photographer.

"You're leaving already?" Al nodded, puzzled, and the dark haired man's face fell. "Dora and I wanted you to come with us tonight. Dora's friend Evangeline said she will come if you do."

"I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to meet my brother and my friend at the Regent tonight," Al replied apologetically. Out of curiosity, he continued, "Where are you going?"

"The Cotton Club," came the sly answer, and Al couldn't help but shake his head at his coworker. "They serve good food and have good music."

"You mean they have al—" Alphonse began, though he was cut short by the sight of a grey-suited man who appeared at the front of the open office.

"Elric!" the man in grey barked, setting those at the desks nearest him to wincing. "Fire at 10th and 57th! All my reporters are already out, so you're reporting and photographing."

"Sir?" Al squeaked out. "You want me to _report_ this?"

The man gestured impatiently at the window. "Get going, Elric!" he ordered. "Or it'll have burned itself out by the time you get there. Don't screw up!" His face turning two shades paler, Al nodded in silence and watched helplessly as the man disappeared, his orders given.

"Reporting and photographing a fire," the dark-haired Alexei mused, a grin on his lips. "These things take time."

"I know, I know," Al answered, slinging his camera case over his shoulder as he grabbed a notebook and pencil off his desk. "I'll be here all night. But I need to make a phone call before I head out." Brushing by his grinning coworker, Al reached the bank of telephones at the front and spoke to the operator on the other end, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he waited to be connected.

Seventeen taps of his foot later, the familiar voice of his brother came through the earpiece Alphonse held in his hand. "Dr. Roberts' Laboratory, Edward Elric speaking."

"Brother, I just got an assignment from the Chief," Al informed him without preamble. "I don't think I'll make it back in time for the movie, so you and Sara should go without me."

There was a long pause that caused Alphonse to wonder if they'd been disconnected. "Is this another set-up?" Ed finally asked, his suspicion clear through the telephone wires.

Though his brother could not see it, Al's expression became at once mortified and annoyed. "It is not!" he exclaimed, sounding offended despite the knowledge that his brother's question was probably a fair one. "There's a fire at 10th and 57th, and all the reporters are busy."

"I'll just give Sara a call—" Ed began, the tone of his voice telling Alphonse his brother was about to try weaseling out of the outing.

"Sara's been looking forward to tonight, Ed!" Al interrupted. "You can't just cancel on her because I'm not there. You'll have fun. I've got to go before the fire burns itself out and the Chief has my head on a plate. I'll see you tonight!" Ignoring his brother's sputtering protests, Alphonse dropped the earpiece back into its cradle and gave Alexei a last wave as he sprinted out the door.

* * *

Edward stared at the now silent telephone in his hand as if Alphonse's news had magically transformed it into a dead snake. "Was that the crazy Russian man again, Edward?" Dr. Roberts' voice drifted down the hallway from the lab. 

"No, Doctor!" Edward yelled back, dropping the earpiece back into its cradle as he fairly stormed back into the laboratory. "It was just my idiotic brother," he elaborated, returning to his abandoned task.

"Oh, what happened to Alphonse? Aren't you two supposed to go to the movies tonight?" Dr. Roberts asked, wincing as he watched his student viciously twist a bolt into place. "Edward, please do not destroy my prototype."

At the admonition, Ed looked down and noticed how tightly his automail hand was twisting the fastener. "Sorry, sir," he answered, abashed.

"So what's this about Alphonse?" the older man asked, continuing his earlier line of thought now that the danger to his creation was past.

Edward blew his bangs out of his face and shook his head. "Nothing. He's got an assignment tonight, so he told me to go to the movie with Sara without him."

"Sara, the doctor down the street? She's a nice girl," the professor said, though his carefully neutral tone caused Edward to eye him with suspicion. "What's wrong with going to a movie with a pretty girl?"

The direct question caught Ed by surprise, and he glanced around the laboratory workspace in obvious discomfort as he fumbled for an answer. "She's not—I mean, she's just a friend. It was all Al's idea—It's complicated, sir."

The professor shook his head and placed a hand on his pupil's shoulder. "You're over thinking again, Edward," he advised, a smile playing at his mouth. "It's a Friday afternoon. Go get cleaned up and go to the movie with your friend. Maybe you'll even have fun. I bet Alphonse would be surprised by _that_ particular turn of events." When Ed looked about to protest, the professor changed the topic with a gesture to the door. "I need you to deliver the camber 14 model to the University. I've already got it wrapped." When Ed said nothing, older man added, "Don't worry, you can take the car."

With a visible shake to bring him back to the task at hand, Ed nodded his acknowledgement. "I'll have it back before you leave, Professor," he promised as he moved to pick up the bulky parcel from its resting place by the door.

"Don't worry about it," Dr. Roberts answered, turning his attention back to the prototype in front of him. "Take it out for the weekend and impress your friend. Just have it back in one piece on Monday morning." At Edward's involuntary squeak of protest, the older man looked up and laughed. "You need to learn to relax, Edward. You're young; there's plenty of time for you to be scandalized when you're my age."

* * *

The drive to the University did not take long, though it took a significantly longer time for Ed to find someone who knew where his parcel was to be delivered. Still, with the help of the professor's automobile, he managed to make it home in time to change his clothes before heading over to Sara's. As he pulled up to the curb, the door to her building opened, and the blonde doctor stepped out as if summoned by his arrival. Hastily, Edward pulled on his gloves and rolled down the window. "Sara!" he called, keeping the car idling. At the sound of her name, the blonde turned, and visibly jumped at the sight of the man in the car. 

"Edward?" she asked. "When did you get a car?"

"It's the professor's," he explained, noticing for the first time that Sara's hair was pinned up and topped by a cap the same dark green as her short, stylish dress. "Will you get in? If I take the keys out I'm going to have to use the crank to restart it, and _that_ takes forever and a day."

Sara's expression turned skeptical as she stepped back and regarded the automobile before turning her attention back to the man within. "Do you even know how to drive a car?" she asked.

"Yes!" came the defensive answer. "I'm a good driver! Now will you get in?" Sara laughed at the rising heat in her friend's cheeks and nodded, opening the passenger side door and slipping into the car.

"Where's Alphonse?" she asked, glancing at the empty back seat.

Ed fidgeted awkwardly and kept his eyes on the steering wheel as he replied, "He got called away for an assignment, a fire or something. I said we could all go another day, but he wanted us to go without him because he knew you've been looking forward to the movie." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Sara's narrowed brow and pursed lips and felt the familiar twinge of pain, remembering an identical woman making the same gesture years ago. "We can wait and go tomorrow, if you'd rather wait for Al," he added, forcing his mind away from the dull pain of remembrance.

Misunderstanding the change in her companion's tone, Sara turned sharply towards the blond man in the driver's seat. "No, if it's fine with Al, we should go today," she reassured him but faltered as she tried to explain herself. "Al just—I suppose I can't help but wonder if Al is trying to be devious even though he promised he wouldn't again."

Hearing his own suspicion echoed back to him made Edward laugh, and the simple act pushed the melancholic memories of Winry to the periphery of his thoughts. "You know, the same thought crossed my mind," he said, the chuckle still in his voice. "But he insists it isn't, and Al has never been a very good liar. Shall we go?" When his companion answered in the affirmative, Ed shifted the vehicle out of its parked state, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn't cough or protest. Sparing a glance out the window for oncoming traffic and ignoring Sara's half-serious predictions of imminent death, Ed deftly maneuvered the car down the street.

* * *

By the time the movie was over, the sky overhead was a dome of crystal spangled black velvet, and any residual heat of the day had long since dissipated. Stepping out of the ornate theatre lobby, Ed frowned at the chill in the air and glanced over at his companion, who was pulling her light coat tighter over her dress. "I think I saw a café nearby. Let's get something to drink," he suggested. 

At his words, Sara stopped walking and turned to scrutinize him, an unreadable expression on her face. Before Ed could get defensive, however, the cryptic expression melted away to be replaced by a pleased smile and Sara answered, "That sounds nice."

Edward's memory proved correct, and it wasn't long before the two were seated at a table with cups of coffee, watching as the small establishment filled up with the after-movie crowd, young men and women much like themselves dressed in the latest fashion and demanding refreshments. Ed took a slow sip of his coffee and regarded the woman sitting across from him out of the corner of his eye as she added two lumps of sugar and a splash of cream to her own cup.

"So what did you think of the movie?" Sara asked without looking up as she stirred the cup, mixing the additions thoroughly into her drink. Satisfied with the pale tan liquid in her cup, Sara removed the spoon, placing on the saucer with a faint clink as she turned twinkling eyes to the man in front of her. "Seems you survived well enough."

With a soft, distracted chuckle, Ed slowly turned his face from the bustling interior of the café and back to his companion. "It wasn't as bad as it could have been," he admitted with a smile, settling his cup on its saucer. "Though I don't think I believe that whole idea of love making everything right." When he met Sara's eyes, though, Edward jumped visibly. "Your eyes are green!" he exclaimed, disconcerted.

Sara cocked her head and gave him a confused look. "No, they're not. They're blue, like they have always been," she answered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. As she did so, her fingers encountered the dark green cap, and her face lit up with understanding. "It must be the lightning in here combined with the colour of my hat." At the explanation, Ed relaxed, though the surprise was long in fading from his face. "You seem awfully bothered by this, Ed. It's just a trick of the light," she said, puzzlement in her voice.

Edward shook his head, as if the very motion would dislodge the thoughts that had taken up residence within his mind. "It's nothing," he excused, forcing his facial muscles to some semblance of carefree relaxation. Changing the subject back to the movie, Ed said, "It was good, I suppose, but I don't understand how Angelo could be so devastated just because Maria was arrested. I mean, she was just his _model_ for the mother of God, not a real saint or anything."

* * *

As Ed suspected, Sara's opinions about the movie were far from his own, and they debated spiritedly within the café until their coffee grew cold. During the car ride back to Sara's building, the conversation continued, drifting from the movie they'd just seen to Alphonse's fondness for animals, to the difference between New York City and Malone, the small town upstate where Sara had grown up. As the car approached Sara's building, Edward glanced at his companion, unsure of what protocol to follow. "Should I walk you to the door?" he asked, easing the automobile to a stop at the curb. 

At his hesitance, Sara smiled and shook her head. "It's not necessary," she answered. "Besides, I don't want you to have to crank the car up again." She paused, regarding him in the dim light of the moon, and dropped her eyes before speaking again. "Tonight was nice. I'm glad Al convinced you to come." The words came out in a rush, and she gave Ed an uncharacteristically shy smile when she met his eyes again.

Feeling his cheeks flush with warmth, Ed tried his best not to stammer as he opened his mouth to speak. "I am too. We should do this again sometime." The play of shadow over Sara's face made it hard for Edward to read her expression, but he thought he saw her smile deepen at his words.

"Goodnight, Edward," she said, her voice soft as she moved to open the passenger door. A moment before she stepped out, she turned back and leaned over, brushing her lips briefly against his cheek. Before Ed could comprehend what had happened, Sara was gone, and all he saw was a flash of blonde hair disappearing behind the door of her building.

* * *

The trip back to his own building was a blur in Ed's mind, his awareness tuned purely to the memory of Sara's brief kiss. To him, it seemed the momentary contact burned like a brand, and it wasn't until the phantom heat had cooled did he realize he had managed to return to his home unscathed, and now sat dazed on the couch, Hawkeye purring in his lap as he stroked her with an absentminded hand. Self-aware once more, Edward blinked in confusion as he regarded the puddle of fur stretched across his legs. "Al?" he called out uncertainly. "Are you home?" 

Edward frowned at the silence the greeted him; it had already been late when he and Sara had left the café, and he hoped his younger brother's impromptu promotion to reporter wasn't keeping him at the Times office. Upon further reflection, though, Ed had to admit to himself that he was glad Al had not been home. The thought of Al witnessing his dazed return and the inevitable questions that would have followed made him cringe, and he tried to ignore the heat the flushed his cheeks even now at the thought of soft lips against his skin.

It wasn't long at all before the dozing cat snapped to alertness, and a moment after Edward wondered at the sudden change, he received his answer in the form of his younger brother stumbling through the door. "Al?" he asked, hustling Hawkeye off his lap as he stood up. "Are you alright?" Ed managed to reach the door just in time to catch Al as he tripped over his own feet. "Al, you're _drunk_," the older Elric said disbelievingly as he caught the unmistakable scent of alcohol on his brother's breath. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"Not drunk," Al answered as he pawed at Edward's shirt, trying to pull himself fully upright. "Just went to hear good music."

Ed sighed and shook his head, waiting until he had maneuvered Al onto the couch before speaking again. Once Al had been deposited successfully onto the furniture and was no longer in danger of hurting himself by attempting to walk, Edward spoke again. "Where did you go after work, Al?"

Dark amber eyes blinked slowly, as if trying to determine where the voice was coming from even as Al spoke, his words slightly slurred, "The Cotton Club with Alexei. Dora is nice, and Evie—Ange—Evangeline is pretty. I like pretty girls." His alcohol clouded senses finally noticing his brother, Al turned towards Ed and continued, "Doesn't Brother like pretty girls? Winry was a pretty girl." Al paused in his inebriated rambling, and Ed took the moment to pull his younger brother to his feet.

"Come on, Al," Ed said quietly. "Let's get you to bed."

Al did not resist as he was led towards his bedroom, but as they neared the door, he spoke again, "Sara looks just like Winry. Don't you think Sara is a pretty girl, Brother?" At the question, Ed stumbled and had to catch himself against the doorframe to keep from pitching Alphonse onto the floor.

Without a word, he shouldered Al's weight again, taking the last few steps and dumping his younger brother unceremoniously into his bed. Al stirred, muttering a few more incoherent words as he made himself comfortable. When he was satisfied that Alphonse wasn't going to roll off the bed, Edward backed away and headed to the door. He stopped for a moment to regard the supine form of his brother with a pained smile on his lips, then shook his head and headed to his own room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

****

Proof of Obsessive Research: 

_The Cotton Club_ - A nightclub (and speakeasy) that operated in New York City during Prohibition. The club opened in 1920 under the name Club Deluxe and became renamed The Cotton Club in 1923 following a takeover by Owney Madden, a famous bootlegger. The Cotton Club jumpstarted the careers of many jazz musicians, including Louis Armstrong and Dizzy Gillespie.

_the crazy Russian man_ - Igor Sikorsky, a Russian immigrant, considered by many to be the father of the modern helicopter. In 1923, Sikorsky founded Sikorsky Aero Engineering Company, which manufactured airplanes, including flying boats. Sikorsky successfully flew the first single rotor helicopter (the VS-300) on May 13, 1940.

Dr. Roberts car - Though Ford Model T's sold after 1919 contained electrical starters, older models stil required handcranking to start.

_Malone, New York_ - a small town in upstate New York, famous individuals associated with Malone include William Almon Wheeler (Vice President to Rutherford Hayes), and Almanzo James Wilder (husband of _Little House on the Prairie_ author Laura Ingalls Wilder)


	7. The Price of Trust

**The Price of Trust**

"I'm guessing Alphonse won't be joining us tonight," Sara Rockbell predicted as she pulled her companion to a stop in front of a display of fruit.

Edward Elric shook his head, though Sara's eyes were riveted to the baskets of ruby-coloured strawberries for sale. "He'll probably have dinner with Evangeline," he agreed. "Between his promotion to full-time reporter and that girl, I barely see Al anymore."

"It sounds like you're jealous of your brother finding a girl," Sara teased as the grocer stepped outside. She turned her attention away from Edward and spoke rapidly to the grocer. Before Ed knew what was happening, money had been exchanged and Sara held a small basket of strawberries in her hands, the thin smooth skins fairly glowing in the late afternoon summer sun.

"Why did you just buy strawberries?" Ed asked, bristling. "I got groceries for dinner!"

Sara effectively stopped Edward's tirade by dropping one of the small fruits into his mouth, and she couldn't help but laugh at his stupefied expression as he instinctively clamped his mouth shut around the strawberry. "I bought them because they looked good," she answered. "And by the look on your face, I'm going to guess they taste good too."

Glaring halfheartedly at the woman beside him, Edward chewed quickly and swallowed before speaking. "I am not jealous of Alphonse's girl," he insisted, returning to the earlier topic of conversation as they took advantage of a lull in traffic to cross the street. "I just think it would be nice to see my own brother for more than five minutes between when he gets home and when he goes to bed."

"Well, next Friday it's my turn to make dinner. Why don't you invite Al and Evangeline over? Then you can see your brother and I can meet this girl." Sara gave Edward a mischievous grin over her shoulder and added, "I've been wondering what kind of girl catches Alphonse's interest ever since you started complaining about her."

Ed frowned and picked up his pace, making it back onto the relative safety of the sidewalk just as an impatient car accelerated through the intersection. "She's nothing special," he grumbled as they reached the familiar brick façade of the three-story building the Elrics called home. "She's got mud-coloured hair and her eyes are too far apart. Besides, she got Al drunk."

Shaking her head in resignation, Sara waited at the door while Ed began fishing through his overcoat pockets. "The way Al tells it, it was Alexei's fault that he got drunk at the Cotton Club, not Evangeline's," she said, recalling with a grin the younger man's piteous condition the next day when she'd dropped by. Edward merely huffed in response, and she continued, "I never really figured you for the overprotective big brother type, Ed. But I guess if I had a younger sibling I'd be that way too." A flash of metal caught her eye, and Sara reflexively threw out her hand, catching the key in midair. "Why are you throwing things at me?" she demanded.

"So you can head on upstairs," Edward answered, an inexplicable grin playing at the corners of his lips, "while I bring Mrs. Jenkins her mail." The explanation was enough to placate Sara, who nodded and headed up the stairwell while Ed began emptying the mailbox.

* * *

When Edward finished delivering the mail to the elderly woman on the second floor, he found the door of his home propped wide open and Sara tugging at the window. "Ed, come help me with the window," she said without turning around. "It's stuck or something." 

"Why are you trying to open my window anyway?" Ed asked, running a finger across the sash before he forced the glass pane upward. Frowning at the squawk of protest from the wood and metal, he mused, "Guess the tracks could use some grease or something."

"I wanted the window open because it's an oven in here," Sara answered, dusting off her hands. "How could you not notice, especially all covered up in long sleeves and gloves like that?"

Ed glanced down at his gloves, now covered in both a thin layer of oil from the laboratory and dust from the window, and shrugged. "I spent some time doing research in the desert when I was younger. Guess I got used to it then." Giving Sara a smile, he added, "If you're really that hot, there's ginger ale and cola in the icebox. I'll be back in a minute; opening that window for you got me all dusty."

When he reappeared, fresh gloves on his hands, Ed found Sara seated on the comfortably worn davenport, watching in amusement as the grey Mustang made a circuit on top of the small side table. "What's that stupid cat doing now?" he asked. "And where's Hawkeye?"

"She came out of Al's room, took one look at Mustang and ran right back in. Guess they had a fight." Sara shifted in her seat, revealing the soda bottle in the middle of the table. "He can feel how cool the bottle is," she chuckled. "But he got wet when he tried to rub up against the thing, so he's just circling it."

The idea of the grey cat's aversion to water extending even to the relief of cool condensation reminded Edward of the feline's namesake, and involuntary laughter bubbled out of him. When he was in control of his responses again, Edward noticed Sara watching him with amusement. "What?" he asked, his normal defensiveness creeping back into his voice.

She shook her head and took a sip from the soda bottle. "Nothing," she answered, "I've just never heard you laugh like that before. You sounded… different." Catching sight of his narrowing eyes, she added, "It's not a bad different. You seemed almost carefree for a moment." Unable to fully articulate the change she'd glimpsed in his laughter, Sara changed the subject. "So, what do you have in mind for dinner?"

* * *

Tired of simply watching Edward turn several homemade pickles into a fine mince of relish, Sara shooed Mustang off her lap, ignoring the cat's lazy meow of protest, and asked, "What can I do to help?" 

Ed blinked in surprise at the sudden question and paused in his chopping to consider an answer. "If you really want to, you could tear the meat into little pieces," he said, gesturing to the icebox. "There's most of a roast chicken from last night in there." She nodded and brought the chicken and a bowl over to the countertop after a detour to wash her hands free of cat fur.

As she removed the meat from the bones, Sara watched Ed finish chopping the pickles and move to the sink, where he rinsed clean several stalks of celery and a tomato. Returning to the countertop, he took the knife in his right hand and used his left to guide the stalks of celery underneath, chopping them into small pieces in quick order. "Edward?" she asked as she realized that his hands were still gloved, and had been all the while. "Wouldn't all that be easier without the gloves?"

The question caught Ed off guard, and he jumped, dropping the knife to the floor with a metallic clatter. His bangs hid his face as he retrieved the blade, and he answered, "Guess I just forgot. I've gotten so used to doing everything with them on that I don't notice." Though he tried to keep his voice level as he spoke, Ed couldn't hide the nervous tightness that pulled at his jaw, or the way his right hand flexed involuntarily against the knife handle.

"You know, now that you mention it, I don't think I've ever seen you without gloves on," Sara continued conversationally, her attention on the bowl in front of her. "Or in anything besides long sleeved shirts, no matter how hot it is outside." When the last bit of meat was freed from the carcass, she looked up to find the blond bent over the vegetables, the knife moving methodically under his hand. Though his bangs hid his eyes, she noticed the tense set of his jaw and frowned uncertainly. "Edward? What's wrong?"

The direct question necessitated an answer, and Ed allowed himself a slow, deep breath before lifting his head, taking the moment to school his expression, to again bundle away the tumult of emotions her words elicited. "Just some old memories I haven't thought about in a long time," came the answer. He forced his facial muscles upward, though the gesture took more force than he ever thought possible, and he was certain Sara could see the hairline cracks in his composure. There was concern and compassion mingled in the sapphire blue of her eyes when he met them, and the sight made his forced smile a little easier to bear.

"So, any interesting patients today?" he asked, his voice beginning to sound a little more like his usual self even to his ears. "Though I don't think you'd be able to tell me another story as interesting as Bee Boy."

* * *

Dinner was a subdued affair, despite both Edward and Sara's conscious attempts to keep the mood light and ignore the glimpse of memory's abyss she had accidentally witnessed. After the last strawberry had been divided and devoured, Sara waved off Edward's protests and began washing the dishes they'd used, instructing him to begin cleaning up the leftovers. As he found a cover for the uneaten chicken salad, Ed peered into the serving bowl, gauging the amount. "I guess we can save the rest for Al," he said as he carried the bowl to the icebox. "Though I don't think he'll eat it. He's surprisingly picky, considering how long—" He stopped abruptly and chuckled, meeting Sara's questioning gaze with a smile and a shake of the head.

Sara allowed the moment to pass and said nothing as she rinsed the last of the dishes and picked up a dry dishcloth. Despite his lighthearted tone, she could still hear the brittleness in Edward's voice, and a large part of her was afraid that another unthinking word could break the fragile friendship they had built through the months. There had been instances where she'd caught him watching her but could have swore he saw someone else, times when the distance he kept her at seemed almost insurmountable. She fervently hoped that whatever wounds she had reopened today would heal cleanly, that she could continue to bask in the intensity of his gaze. Despite devoting long hours of thought to the reason, Sara still did not know why the prickly personality of Edward Elric felt like such a balm to her soul. Sometimes she wondered if it was simply fate laughing at her, paying her retribution for the numerous times she'd cajoled children into taking noxious tasting medicines in exchange for health.

Edward joined her at the counter shortly, taking the dried dishes from the pile on her right and replacing them in the cabinet. Sara fought against the urge to glance over at his still gloved hands, wondering what memories prompted him to keep them covered and her at arm's length. "Thanks," Ed said as he dropped the knives and forks into the silverware drawer with a clatter.

"It's taken you long enough to realize I'm going to stay and help clean up no matter what you say," she remarked with a smile.

The smile that he gave in response was shaky, though there was genuine warmth in it. "Guess I should just be grateful, shouldn't I?" he asked rhetorically. With a glance out the window at the darkened sky and rising moon, he added, "It's getting late. Should I walk you home?"

"In a minute," she said, drying off her hands and peering around the room. "I want to say goodbye to Hawkeye and Mustang."

At the response, Edward rolled his eyes and muttered something about "you cat people" under his breath. While Sara coaxed the felines into the room, he found his keys and placed them in his pocket. "You done yet?" he asked after a minute of waiting, watching the blonde run her fingers over the ginger cat.

"Be patient, Ed. I'm trying to see something," came the admonishment. When Sara finally straightened, he handed her the bulging black bag she always carried and opened the door. "I don't know that much about animals, but I think Hawkeye may be expecting a litter," Sara said conversationally as they exited the building. "You should keep an eye on her."

"A litter of what—" Edward began, letting the building's door swing shut with a loud bang behind him. The pieces clicked in place almost immediately and he increased his pace to a trot to catch up to the doctor. "Wait, you're saying the cat's pregnant? How did that happen?"

Sara raised an eyebrow at his question and he felt the beginnings of a blush creep up his neck. "Please don't tell me I have to explain that to you, Edward." At his embarrassed grumble, she continued, "But Mustang's a tomcat, isn't he? It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"That bas—" Ed began in disbelief, but hastily changed his tone after a sharp glare from his companion. "That stupid cat. Al's going to want to keep the entire lot if she really is pregnant."

Sara laughed in agreement, "Maybe I'll take one of them off your hands if it's true. I could be wrong." Without another word, the two continued the now familiar walk, comfortable in the relative coolness of a summer night in New York.

* * *

The walk was a short one, and Sara's building soon came into view. At the sight, Sara slowed her steps and began stealing nervous glances at the man accompanying her. "Something wrong?" Ed inquired, finally noticing the change in her behavior. 

"No, just thinking," came the distracted reply. Edward studied her in the lamplight, noting her furrowed brow and the nervous way she moistened her lips, but said nothing; all too aware of his own secrets, he felt he had no right to pry.

When they were a few feet from her doorstep, Sara finally spoke, as if the impending end to the evening gave her the courage, "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what it was I said, but I'm sorry for it." The words tumbled out of her in a rush, and it took Ed a moment to process exactly what she had said.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Ed answered as soon as he understood her words. He met her anxious eyes and smiled faintly. "It's just been a long time since someone noticed, and I was surprised. I'll have to tell you the story one day."

Sara returned the smile, the anxiety leeching out of her body as she did so. "I hope you do." She placed a hand on the door handle and paused, as if debating whether to speak, or what to say. "Remember to invite Alphonse and Evangeline over here for dinner next Friday," she finally said.

Ed sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "If you insist. I still don't like that girl." She giggled at his exaggerated response and he sighed even louder, though there was laughter in his eyes. "Good night, Sara."

"Good night, Ed. Be careful walking home."

* * *

The small clock on the shelf read quarter past ten when Edward emerged from the bathroom, his bangs clinging damply to his forehead as he pulled the freshly washed locks back in a loose ponytail. The sporadic breezes that whistled through the apartment were warm, but moving warm air was a significant improvement over stagnant warm air, at least in Ed's mind, so he kept the windows open as he settled into his nightly routine of automail maintenance. The feel of the soft cloth beneath his fingers and the familiar, rhythmic motion of his hands as he rubbed the last traces of water from the crevices of his mechanical limbs lulled his mind to stillness.

He had just finished applying oil to the toe joints when the brush of something warm and furry against his right ankle made him jump and bang his shin against the edge of the table. "Damn it!" Edward cursed as he righted himself again, rubbing his wounded shin as he peered under the table. A dark grey cat stared back at him with cool green eyes. "I bet you thought that was funny," he muttered darkly at it. "You are way too much like that bastard." At the memory of Roy Mustang, Ed shook his head and continued berating the silent cat, "I can't believe you got Hawkeye pregnant. Could you be any more annoying? Even animals named after you are troublesome."

Irritated, Ed swung his right foot at the cat, which retreated with a warning hiss. 'Don't take your frustration out on me, Fullmetal,' Roy Mustang's voice echoed within his mind, the memory jogged by the cat's reaction.

The thought of Alphonse's reaction should he return and find his older brother half dressed and kicking the cat stayed Edward's foot a second time, and he muttered a string of expletives regarding Roy Mustang's parentage under his breath instead. Still, he knew the voice in his mind spoke the truth, that it was not the ginger Hawkeye's condition or Mustang's part in it that bothered him. "I must be going crazy if I'm listening to that bastard's voice in my head," Ed finally sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

The feel of cool metal against his skin reminded Ed of his true dilemma, of Sara's seemingly innocent questions earlier in the day, and he raised his head to stare at dull silver appendage. Almost five years of normal use had sprinkled small dents and scratches along the metal, but it was damage only his eyes saw. What troubled him was not the condition of the limb, but the prospect of revealing it to Sara and her reaction.

Little more than a year had passed since the day Sara Rockbell appeared in the laboratory, bringing the tools of her trade to fix him up, and Edward was beginning to see her more as the kind, patient doctor she was, and less as the mirror image of the devoted, hot-tempered mechanic he knew. Though there were times when a wave of melancholy memory, sparked by a word or gesture, would still wash over him, he knew those times were growing fewer and farther in between, and Sara's name now came as easily to his lips as Winry's. Still, Ed could not shake the fear that by showing his automail to Sara, he would be blurring within his own mind the fragile distinction he'd begun to make between the two, the doctor who mended flesh and bone and the mechanic who mended motor and steel.

Complicating matters was his knowledge of the fact that automail didn't belong in this world. In spite of Sara's undeniable uniqueness, Edward was certain that the fundamental core of the doctor was the same as that of the mechanic, that if he revealed to her the existence of a fully functional prosthetic, she would want to examine and replicate it to help her patients. Though his younger brother questioned his attachment to this world, Edward knew it was his responsibility to disrupt the natural progression of it as little as possible despite his presence. The question once again ran through his mind, still answerless despite its repetition: would the existence of automail change the world he lived in, the one he now claimed as his own?

Finding only silence within his mind, Ed closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, the dark grey Mustang was in his direct line of sight, regarding him with those same cool green eyes. "I know what Al would say," the blond said to the animal. "He'd want me to stop hiding my limbs from Sara, to trust her to keep the automail a secret. But he doesn't understand how hard it is for me to separate the two of them in my mind, how Sara is the doctor, and Winry was… my mechanic. And he probably thinks she would keep it a secret and not think about it, but Al has always been too trusting. There's enough of Winry in Sara for her to want to know how it works, how it could make life for the people she cares about better."

Mustang merely stood where he was, the words nothing but noise that the cat allowed to wash over him. Edward didn't notice his audience's disinterest; the act of voicing his thoughts, and the ability to hear his own reasons, cleared away some of the confusion, and the words continued pouring out of him. "But Alphonse is right; I can't hope to hide my automail forever. If someone from this world has to know, Sara would be the best choice. She might not understand completely, but at least I know she can be trusted." His decision almost completely made, the blond finished maintenance on his arm and wiped the excess oil off the limb before standing up. "There's nothing I can do but trust her," he said to himself. "Trust her to keep my secret, and trust her to be Sara."

As he gathered up the soft polishing cloths and small canister of oil, the grey cat gave a loud, approving meow and Edward froze in place, a scowl darkening his eyes. "I can't believe I was talking to the damned cat," he muttered to himself. When Mustang meowed again, he raised his voice and added as he resumed the walk to his room, "And I certainly wasn't asking for your advice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward could have sworn he saw the grey cat preen at the words. Clamping his mouth shut tight to prevent himself from beginning another one-sided argument with the cat, Ed entered his room and slammed the door shut.

* * *

"That was absolutely delicious," Evangeline Johnson said as she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Thank you for having us over, Sara." 

"I'm glad you could join us," Sara answered, a warm smile on her face as she took a sip from her water glass. "I've heard so much about you from Alphonse the past couple months and now I can finally put a face to the name."

Evangeline returned Sara's smile with one that made her dark brown eyes sparkle. "Alphonse has told me so much about you and Edward as well," she said, bobbing her head to include the ponytailed man who was prodding at the cake crumbs on his plate with a fork. When the gesture elicited no response from Edward, Evangeline leaned in to Sara and asked, her tone conspiratorial, "But Alphonse didn't tell me how long the two of you have been together."

Dark blue eyes blinked rapidly in surprise at the remark. "Excuse me?" Sara asked.

Before Evangeline could repeat her question, Al interrupted, "Sara and Edward are just friends, Evie."

"Really? The way you do talk about these two, they seem positively stuck on each other!" Evangeline exclaimed in disbelief.

The sharp surprise of the young woman's voice finally cut through the fog of Edward's thoughts and he looked up from his empty plate to ask, "What?"

"Just beating our gums. You know how we dames are," Evangeline said guilelessly, punctuating the remark with a wink. Her smile deepened as Edward's brow visibly furrowed and he stood, his plate in hand.

"I think I'll clean up and leave you to it." The distaste was evident in his voice as he turned away from the table, and Sara had to fight down a smile when she saw the amusement that passed between Alphonse and Evangeline.

"I'll help," the younger Elric piped up, stacking his companion's plate on his. "It'll let the two of you get to know each other without us." The implication 'without my brother listening' hung unspoken between the young man and the blonde doctor, and she nodded in acquiescence.

When the two siblings had busied themselves at the sink across the room, Evangeline's attention swung back to Sara. "Are you and Edward really just friends?" she asked. "Or have you not told Alphonse that you were seeing his brother?"

At the question, Sara frowned and regarded the woman sitting across the table. Evangeline was a fashionable girl, with wide eyes and short bobbed hair the colour of chocolate. She was sociable enough and Sara liked the young woman, but the idea of confiding to Evangeline the confusion that had plagued her for the past months was ludicrous. Perhaps if they became friends, she would tell the woman of the impulsive kiss given on a breezy April evening and the tentative invitation extended after a surprising night at the movies. Perhaps if they became friends, Sara would tell Evie of the perplexing coolness that had fallen between herself and Edward, of the friendship that had grown despite the broken promise of more.

But for now, Sara merely shook her head and stole a glance at the blond juggling a stack of dirty dishes at the kitchen counter. "We're just friends."

* * *

Sara watched at the open main door until the young couple paused at the intersection. When Alphonse turned back towards the building and waved, his wheat-coloured hair glowing faintly in the lamplight, she returned the gesture and closed the door, taking the steps back up to her own apartment. Within her home, she found Edward showing a surprising amount of patience as he placed the cleaned dishes back in their proper places. 

"Looks like you survived dinner with Evangeline unscathed," she teased good-naturedly as she approached the blond man.

Edward shrugged as he reached up to place a stack of plates on a shelf above his head. "I wasn't going to say anything while Al was here," came the distracted reply.

"She seems nice enough," Sara continued as she watched him put the last cup in its place. "A regular flapper, but she seems sweet under all the short hair and talk."

A soft laugh slipped from the blond man's lips as he turned towards Sara, his eyes lit with amusement. "Sounds like I'm not the only one that disapproves."

At the comment, Sara's eyes narrowed but she shook her head, refusing to rise to the bait. "It's still early," she remarked instead with a glance at the mantle clock on its shelf. "Do you have plans tonight, or is it just back to the books?"

Silence stretched between them as Ed dropped his eyes to his gloved hands, contemplating the concealed flesh and metal. "No plans tonight," he finally answered, "but can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course," Sara said, her voice growing soft with concern. "Do you want to sit down?" At Ed's wordless nod, she led him to the cleared dining room table and took the chair across from him.

Once seated, Edward took a deep breath and raised his eyes to Sara's face, fighting down the urge that rose instinctively within to remember her doppelgänger. "Do you remember how you asked me about my gloves last week, and I said that I would tell you the story one day?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued hesitantly, as if unsure how to phrase his words, "Aside from Alphonse, you're the closest friend I have, and I know I can trust you. But I need to know that you won't tell anyone about what I say tonight, or what I show you. This isn't just my secret; part of it belongs to someone very dear to me, and I need to know that I can trust you not to tell anyone else about it." He swallowed dryly and unclenched his hands, which had been gripping each other tightly as he spoke. "Can I trust you?"

The blonde woman licked her lips as she digested Ed's words. His insistence made her nervous even as it explained his prior reluctance. "You can trust me," she answered, trying to force the waver out of her voice.

At her answer, Ed let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding. He had not allowed himself to contemplate the idea that Sara would refuse, but hearing her affirmation felt as if one weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I know Alphonse told you that we did some very foolish things when we lost our mother," he began, the words coming with surprising ease. "In the accident that made Alphonse… sick, I lost my right arm and my left leg." He watched Sara's eyes flicker to his gloved hands and raised his left hand to postpone the flood of questions.

"A girl I… knew, she and her grandmother took care of me and Al after that. She was our best friend, and with her grandmother's help, she gave me back what I had lost." Suddenly unable to face Sara at the veiled mention of her counterpart, Edward dropped his eyes to his hands and slowly peeled off his gloves, revealing first flesh and blood, then dull silver steel. He dropped the gloves onto the tabletop and spread his hands before him, still unable to meet the gaze of the woman sitting across from him. "This is why you've never seen me without my gloves on."

"Edward…" The sound of his name softly spoke, and accompanied by the touch of gentle fingers against his left hand, made him raise his head. The threat of tears made Sara's eyes gleam like sapphire, but when his eyes met hers, she offered him a trembling smile. That wordless gesture of acceptance warmed his entire being and gave him the strength to continue.

"I don't know how the technology works," he admitted, a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment flitting across his features at the confession. "But I know there's nothing like it here in the States or back in Germany." Melancholy coloured his voice as he continued, "My friend… she was the only one who knew how it worked, but I lost her five years ago. This was her masterpiece, and it isn't my place to take her work apart." He trailed off and swallowed audibly as Sara nodded her understanding, the unspoken agreement hanging in the air between them. Though he recognized Winry's mechanical curiosity in the way Sara's eyes flickered over the metal limb, the tightened grip of her hand on his told him that she would not hound him for a secret he did not know.

His confession past, Ed reached up and lifted his bangs from his forehead, allowing the cool metal to rest for a moment against the warm skin. The gesture caught Sara's eye, and she watched the movement of his hand with fascination. "What does it feel like?" she asked. At the question, Ed turned his attention back to the woman, a smile tugging at his lips. Finding his eyes on her, Sara immediately flushed and began stammering, fumbling through explanations for what she perceived to be an ill thought out question born of genuine curiosity.

It took Edward a moment to recover, to shake off the memory of Winry that had risen unbidden in his mind at Sara's interest. "You don't need to apologize," he said, brushing her hand with his as he held up the mechanical limb. "I'm glad you asked; if you just stared at it wondering, I think I'd be a little disconcerted." He allowed himself a chuckle and flexed his right hand in demonstration before speaking. "I don't have any sensation in this arm, but there is some sort of feedback system that relays messages to my body, giving me some idea of how much pressure I'm applying to something. It took a long time to figure out exactly what it all meant. Controlling it is roughly the same. It's hard to explain; I've lived with them for so long that they just feel like a part of me."

Edward's easy response bolstered her confidence and Sara couldn't help but ask another question. "How much of your arm did you lose in the accident?"

Her change to a professional curiosity caught Ed by surprise and he blinked rapidly before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and pulling the collar down to reveal the union of flesh to metal at his shoulder. "All of it, and most of my leg," he answered almost needlessly. Her eyes were already running over the metal and flesh he revealed, wincing at the hints of puckered scar tissue. He held still, allowing her to absorb what he had revealed, trusting her to keep his secret close to her heart. When she said nothing and merely continued watching him, Edward began shifting, growing restless and self-conscious with Sara's unwavering attention.

The sound of Sara's mantle clock chiming the hour made them both jump, and Ed's eyes flew to the timepiece, which read nine o'clock. "It's gotten late," he said, refastening the buttons of his shirt as he stood. "I should head home."

Sara rose with him and her lips worked silently, at a loss for what to say. When his hands, once again covered by his gloves, touched the doorknob, she finally managed a single word, unable to let him depart in silence. "Edward…"

He turned expectantly at the sound of his name, but she only struggled wordlessly, unable to vocalize her feelings. Showing surprising insight, Edward smiled and retraced his step, stopping in front of her. He attempted to speak, but whatever words he wanted to use seemed to evaporate as he opened his mouth, leaving him staring at Sara, his expression of speechlessness mirroring hers. Frustrated, Edward turned towards the door again, but something inexplicable within gave him pause as he watched the blonde doctor out of the corner of his eye. Impulsively, he leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek, a whispered "Thank you" slipping past his lips. Bright colour rising in his face, Edward turned and nearly sprinted for the door, in his embarrassed haste leaving it to swing back open.

Stunned by the turn of events, and with the heartfelt words of gratitude echoing in her ears, Sara stared at the partially opened door as the sound of footsteps receded. "Good night, Edward."

_

* * *

_  
_ginger ale and cola in the icebox_ - Soda water was first bottled in the US in 1835, while ginger ale and cola were created in 1851 and 1881, respectively (Coca-Cola was invented in 1886). Before the introduction of home refrigerators in the 1930s, iceboxes were the main mode of keeping food cold and utilized real blocks of ice placed in an insulated cabinet as the cooling mechanism. 

_davenport_ - Davenport was the name of a series of sofas manufactured by the A.H. Davenport Company, but can also refer generically to sofas.

_beating our gums_ - Roaring Twenties slang that meant idle chatter.

_flapper _- the term for fashionable young women of the 1920s. The lasting icons of the flapper are short (knee-length) loose dresses and short bobbed hair. Flappers were generally thought of as brash and hedonistic women.


	8. Midwinter's Interlude

**Midwinter's Interlude**

Even though the sky was a clear, almost crystalline, blue, the occasional breath of wind still swirled loose icy crystals from the snowdrifts into the air, and I tighten my grip on the box in my arms. The tangle of furry limbs and tails within don't seem to mind the weather, but I can't help but quicken my footsteps to lessen the amount of time the kittens spend out in the cold winter air. My attention is so focused on the kittens that I don't notice we've arrived at Sara's until Edward stops and I all but barrel into him, cats and all.

Maybe it's the cold that keeps him from speaking through the muffler pulled high over his mouth, or maybe he has finally realized there's nothing he can say. Either way, my brother remains silent, merely rolling his eyes as he reaches for the door handle. We troop into the relative warmth of the stairwell and shake the spindrift from our clothes before heading up the stairs to Sara's apartment.

Sara must have been expecting us, because her door swings open after Ed's first knock. Her face is flushed and her hair is disheveled, but her eyes light up at the sight of my brother. She waves us into the warm, inviting room and explains she was just checking on dinner. I smile inwardly when I notice that she's got Ed's left hand firmly in hers as she pulls the door closed. Ed sees that I am looking at their clasped hands and the beginnings of a blush begin to warm his winter-chilled cheeks as he quietly disengages himself. I turn from the two of them to set the box down as Sara makes her way to the stove, asking over her shoulder if we want tea or hot cocoa.

My brother follows her, protesting that we don't need anything, as I take a seat to watch them. Edward hovers at Sara's elbow, his ponytail bobbing animatedly as he tries to convince her she shouldn't make us anything to drink. She shows surprising patience as she fills a pot with milk and sets it to warm, laughter playing at the corner of her lips as she ignores my brother's sudden and violent reaction to the white liquid. I don't know when it happened, but things have slowly, subtly, changed between the two of them. There's a shy, hesitant affection in Edward's gestures as he rolls his eyes and brings three mugs to the counter. When she turns away from the pot and notices the three cups, the pleased smile Sara gives Edward lights up her entire face, and I would swear that for that moment he is the only thing in the room she sees.

Despite the fact that we have always been close, having shared more grief and loss than any children should have, my brother has never been one to put his feelings into words, so I had learned early how to read the minute changes in his body language. But even I don't need my honed Edward-senses to know that something has changed since that day more than a year ago when he realized he loved Winry. There's still a darkness in him, a tightening of his mouth when something Sara says or does reminds him too much of the one he left behind. But there have also been times when his hand brushes hers and a blush of pleasure flits over his face at the brief contact.

Even though Edward would sigh loudly and deny it if I ever said so, Sara's good for him. He may wrestle with the memory of her doppelgänger, may wonder whether loyalty to his first love dictates that he shouldn't get to know the woman before him, but Sara's very presence lightens his spirit. The set of his shoulders is stronger, as if an immense, invisible weight has been lightened if not removed, and just seeing this strange new world he'd chosen doesn't seem to cause as much pain as before. I can see it, and I think she can too, even if she doesn't know why. I just hope Edward will open his eyes and see it himself soon. He's already lost one chance for love, and I can't help but think this is fate's way of giving him a second chance to make things right.

My musing is interrupted when Sara slips a steaming mug of hot cocoa into my hands as she takes a seat on the floor besides the kittens. The sweet, rich scent of chocolate and hot milk is enough to warm me, and I simply hold the mug until Edward takes a seat next to me, grumbling halfheartedly about milk under his breath. Only then do I take a slow sip, grinning at my brother over the rim of my mug as I savored the drink. He and I both know he'll finish his own mug in no time, but he's too stubborn to let go of his complaints.

Turning his attention away from me, his eyes land on Sara, who is running her hands over the two kittens in the box. When her prediction about Hawkeye being pregnant came true, Sara had said she could only accommodate one cat in her home, but she had been unable to choose between the pale grey and the striped ginger kittens and eventually agreed to take them both. Now that the kittens were finally old enough to be taken from their mother, Edward had insisted we bring them to her, as well as to the homes we'd found for the others. I suspect that was partly to prevent me from insisting we keep the entire litter, but I agreed, though I left the delivery of these two for last.

Observing the way my brother watches Sara, I cannot help but smile into my cup. The walls around Edward's heart are still there, but now I have an ally to help breach them.

* * *

**Historical Footnote**

_Hot cocoa_ - Though chocolate as a drink has been popular with the Aztecs since before the Europeans "discovered" the New World, hot cocoa as we know it now (made with powder and milk and/or water) was not readily available in the United States until 1894, when the Hershey's company introduced unsweetened powdered cocoa to the American market.


	9. Epiphany in Blue Glass

**Epiphany in Blue Glass**

Edward Elric ignored the smoke grey kitten that slipped noiselessly into the room, his attention absorbed by his reflection in the dusty mirror. He grunted in frustration as a tug at his collar caused the opposite side to bunch against his neck, repeating the futile performance twice more before giving up. Accepting that his collar was going to be crooked, Edward buttoned up the rarely worn soot black vest and shrugged on the matching jacket, keeping his eyes on the mirror.

Dressed, Ed reached for the wooden comb on his dresser and pulled it through his hair until he could gather it all into a neat ponytail. He frowned a little at his reflection, a touch uncomfortable in the knowledge that he was starting to resemble his father, down to the shadow of facial hair on his chin that remained no matter how often he applied his razor. A soft purr and the feel of warmth around his ankles pulled Edward's attention away from his reflection and to the kitten curling herself sinuously around his feet.

"Havoc!" Ed all but yelped when he noticed the fine dusting of white and grey hairs that now clung to his pants. "Get out of here!" Kicking at the air around the kitten, Edward danced his awkward way to the door, herding her before him. Havoc allowed herself to be led out, but as she crossed the threshold, she turned back to face him with dark violet eyes and let out a loud, pitiful meow before making her way back to the sunny patch of rug in front of the window.

"Brother!" came Al's sharp, admonishing voice, muffled by the heft of his closed bedroom door. "Don't be mean to Havoc!"

Edward gave a wordless growl of frustration as he retreated into his room, brushing futilely at Havoc's parting gift as he did so. When a few swipes only served to transfer the cat hair from his pants to his jacket, Ed stopped and gave himself another nervous glance in the mirror. Satisfied that he didn't look like a complete fool, he slid a slim, dark blue box into his coat pocket and headed for the door, yelling a goodbye to his brother as he did so.

* * *

Still self-conscious of his appearance, Ed nearly dove into his car, fumbling with the starter as he settled properly into the driver's seat. The engine finally turned over, and he allowed the almost cat-like purr to lull him into calmness as he pulled into the road and towards Sara's building. 

Ever since he'd returned to this world, Edward had remembered with fondness the times when he and Alphonse Heidrich had taken their research to demonstrations across Germany. Once he and his little brother had moved to America, the lure of the American roadways had taken hold of Ed, and he felt the need to drive again as an elusive itch, only aggravated by the occasional errands he ran in Professor Roberts' car. It had taken nearly two years of saving before he had even broached the subject of buying a car with Alphonse, and then it had taken months of arguing and cajoling before his younger, more cautious brother would agree.

Still, now as he drove down the sun-warmed street, Ed admitted it had been worth the wait. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing the machine he controlled worked because he took care of it, and the speed with which he could now travel was a heady freedom. The thought flickered through Ed's mind that he used to feel a similar mixture of liberty and contentment after a productive night studying alchemy texts, and he wondered if this was how Winry had felt about automail.

The thought of Winry made Ed even more aware of the box sitting in his coat pocket, and his foot shifted on the gas pedal, speeding up the car and earning him a shout of surprise from the driver he almost hit. Sheepish, Edward eased up on the gas and edged nearer the curb as the dark brick façade of Sara's home pulled into view.

* * *

Sara opened the door after the first knock and waved Edward in with the wicked-looking hatpin in her left hand. "Have a seat," she invited as she perched a dark blue, bell-shaped hat on top of her pinned hair. "I'll be ready in a minute." 

"Sorry if I'm a little early," Ed said, dropping into one of the wooden chairs that sat at her dining table. "I'm still not used to how long it takes to drive over here." Comfortably seated, he turned his attention back to Sara and added, "You look nice."

"Hm?" she responded vaguely, her attention riveted to the task of skewering the hat to her hair without piercing flesh in the process.

A smile played at Ed's lips as he watched her work. For their planned outing tonight, Sara had chosen a loose fitting dress the same shade of dark blue as her hat , with ribbons of light blue adorning both the hat and the low waist of her dress. As he watched her at the mirror, a tiny ball of ginger-coloured fur tumbled into the room, mewing. Recalling Havoc's affinity for his black-clad ankles, Edward eyed the newcomer warily.

Perhaps the kitten noticed the scent of a foreign cat or it possessed an uncanny sense to identify those most uncomfortable around itself, but it made directly for Ed, sniffing carefully around the young man's shoes. Ed growled low in frustration and wagged his foot, but the motion did nothing to deter the inquisitive cat, who simply moved to explore a more stationary part of his leg. "Shoo, you dumb cat," Ed muttered, flicking his hand at the kitten.

"Are you picking on Ginny, Edward?" Sara asked as she turned away from the mirror, satisfied that the hat was in no danger of falling off.

"No!" Ed replied, rising to his feet. "I just didn't want her to get me even _more_ covered in fur. Havoc already did that." The diminutive Ginny gave Edward's pants one last curious bat, then darted behind Sara, curling against her stocking-clad ankles. "You and Al are both completely convinced I kick cats when nobody is looking," he grumbled. "It's not my fault that they pick bad times to jump on me."

Sara laughed as she stepped into her shoes. "They just love you, I guess," she teased, brushing her lips against his cheek in a brief kiss. "Sorry if I'm being uncharitable."

Ed felt the familiar tingle of warmth on his cheek at the momentary contact. Though it had been more than half a year since he and Sara had begun this awkward, shuffling shambles of a courtship, the faintest blush of pink still rose in his skin at the quick fleeting kisses they shared. While Sara found his discomfiture endearing, he continued to be annoyed, though still grateful, that by now the reaction had subsided to a weak flush instead of the bright red and stammering wreck he'd been initially.

Shaking his head to clear the rambling thoughts that had sprung up like ivy, Edward offered her his left hand as he gestured to the door. "You're almost as tall as I am in those shoes," he said, a trace of indignation in his voice.

Sara paused in the doorway and looked down at her feet, then up at her companion before speaking. "Come on," she teased, "if you're going to complain all the way, we'll never get to dinner."

* * *

Sara glanced around the dining room, her eyes drawn alternately to the caricatures that sprinkled the cream-coloured walls and the parade of finely dressed men and women. "I feel a little under-dressed," she remarked, nodding ever-so-slightly at the couple that walked by their table, the woman fairly dripping with sleek fur and sparkling stones. 

"You—You look beautiful." Ed stumbled over the compliment and felt his ears warm, but relaxed at the pleasure in her eyes as she giggled softly. His thoughts brushed the box resting in his pocket and he wondered whether he should give Sara her birthday present now, or wait until after dinner. While the jewelry decked woman had given him the perfect opening, Ed felt nervous, still unsure of whether the gift was appropriate despite Alphonse's continued reassurances.

Edward's internal debate was solved by the appearance of the waiter, bearing their orders. With silent efficiency, he set a plate of red-sauced pasta in front of Sara and a breaded cutlet covered in sauce and cheese in front of Ed before disappearing. With a relieved smile, Ed dug into his meal.

As he chewed an overenthusiastic mouthful, Sara wiped sauce from her lip and shook her head in amazement. "I still can't believe you're eating veal."

Shrugging, Ed made a visible effort and swallowed successfully. "I learned to like_schnitzel_ when I was in Germany," he explained. "This isn't the same, but it's good. You should try some." At her almost panicked expression, he laughed and shook his head. "Suit yourself. You don't know what you're missing." In response, she ignored him, pointedly returning her attention to her own meal.

* * *

Edward toyed with the white linen napkin in his lap as the waiter discretely removed the empty plates from their table and Sara murmured her thanks. "I suppose I should say happy birthday," he said, suddenly shy as he drew the flat pasteboard box from his pocket and set it on the table. Sara looked taken aback by the gesture, and her eyes flickered between the box and the man sitting across the table. When she said nothing, Ed gave a nervous cough and added, "Well, happy birthday. It's not much, but I thought of you when I saw it. Al thinks it suits you too." 

Still hesitant, Sara removed the top of the box with gentle hands, and a smile blossomed over her face when she saw the contents. "Ed, this is beautiful!" The necklace was a simple piece of brass and blue glass, done in geometric curves that still managed to evoke the sense of a growing vine with blooming blue flowers. Sara lifted it out of its box, and the glass beads twinkled like small blue stars as they swayed.

"Go ahead and put it on," Ed encouraged, his nervous expression metamorphosing into a wide grin as he watched her. She nodded and unhooked the clasp, draping the necklace around her throat before refastening it behind her. It was shorter than the long ropes of beads currently in style, but Ed thought the necklace suited Sara perfectly, resting on her smooth skin with the central bead falling right at the neckline of her dress.

"It's perfect," Sara said, unconsciously running a finger across the gift at her neck. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Ed answered as he pointed again to the box. "It's a set. There is a pair of earrings in there too, if you like earrings." Sara nodded her acknowledgement as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and Ed noticed with a start that there was no jewelry adorning her earlobe, that in fact the flesh was unmarred by any piercing. "Your ears aren't pierced!" he exclaimed, surprised.

Sara's hand reached for her earlobe and she fingered it absentmindedly. "No, I never got it done," she answered. Misunderstanding the sudden change in Edward's expression, she added, "Your gift was perfect, Ed. The necklace, the earrings, they're all beautiful."

Something unreadable flickered through the warm gold of Edward's eyes, but in a moment it was gone and his lips curved into its familiar smile. "I'm glad you liked the necklace," he said as he placed several folded bills on the table. After catching the waiter's eye and giving the man a wordless nod, Ed stood up and offered Sara his hand. "Come on, we should get going or we'll be late."

* * *

Edward remained distracted as he drove south, following Sara's directions and bringing the car to a stop outside a tall, pale-coloured church on Avenue B. He followed as she entered the building, stumbling against his companion as she paused at the entrance to the nave to cross herself. "You brought me to church?" he asked in surprise, his voice echoing loudly through the great room as he took in his surroundings. He had the grace to blush as Sara glared and grabbed his elbow, steering him to an empty pew. 

Her grip still firm on his left arm, Sara forced Ed to sit down before she spoke, pitching her voice low to avoid sending her own words soaring through the vaulted space. "We're here for a performance that Mrs. Halifax invited me to." At his blank look, she added, "She's the mother of the red-headed child… Bee Boy, as you are so fond of calling him. They're hosting a visiting sister from some convent outside the city, and she's agreed to perform for them; that's why we're here." Sara gave the arm beneath her hand a warning squeeze before letting go and added, "Don't think I wouldn't drag you to church if I thought it'd do you any good."

An exaggerated look of wounded pride on his face, Ed pulled away from the young woman next to him, rubbing his pinched arm. "So we're here to listen to some tone deaf nun sing? _This_ is how you want to spend your birthday?" he asked in disbelief. "Anyways, I didn't know you did that whole," he interrupted himself in order to wave his hands in a complexly incorrect imitation of Sara crossing herself, "thing."

Sara sighed and snuck a look around the church, but Edward's act of sacrilegious mimicry went unnoticed by those gathered within. "My grandfather was very devout," she answered primly, "I learned when I was young how to act in church." Ed ignored her pointed jab and began gazing around the interior, his eyes tracing the web of dark ribs above their heads.

The great vaulted ceiling with its network of spreading ribs gave Ed the distinct impression that they sat within the belly of a capsized boat and he dropped his eyes back down, disoriented. He glanced at the woman sitting next to him, her hair twisted and pinned beneath her hat. She absentmindedly tucked a loose blonde strand behind her ear, and he was reminded of the same gesture from a younger woman, physically identical but whose personality and essence were a world away. He remembered how she would repeat the gesture as she bent over the masterpieces she created, hands slick with sweat and oil as she pushed away hair the colour of corn silk to reveal the multiple twinkles of silver that had been his gifts to her.

Edward wondered if Winry still wore those earrings he had given her, or if in the last six years they had been lost or put away. Perhaps another man, faceless in his mind's eye, had seen what he had been too blind to see, and Winry was now happy and loved, sporting a band of glittering gold on her left hand. The thought twisted something deep within Ed, and he shook his head, trying to dispel the mental image.

The motion caught Sara's attention and she touched his hand, concern written on her face. "Just hoping Al doesn't work too late," Ed lied.

Sara's brow wrinkled in worry at the mention of the younger Elric brother. "I wanted to ask Al and Evangeline to come with us tonight," she said. "I feel like I haven't seen Alphonse in months."

"The Times has been keeping him busy," Ed answered. "He's even been bringing articles home to finish after work. But it's a good thing you didn't ask him. He and that Evangeline girl haven't seen each other in weeks. I think they've broken it off."

Sara gave him a lengthy sidelong look at his response, scrutinizing his expression for a clue as to how he felt about the new development, but Edward remained impassive. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the lights that illuminated the church began to dim, and an expectant hush spread through the crowd.

A girl, no older than sixteen, appeared at the front of the church, her youth and diminutive size emphasized by the voluminous habit she wore, which gave the impression of drowning her in somber blue cloth. She curtseyed to the gathered crowd, and light from the jewel-like stained glass windows behind her head turned her pale hair a striking shade of lilac. "She's just a _girl_," Edward hissed, appalled. "Whose bright idea was to force her into a convent?" Before Sara could answer, the nameless girl began to sing, and both Sara and Edward were silenced, their attention now riveted to the rich notes that hung shining in the air like drops of gold.

* * *

The child nun sang in Latin, her bell-like voice soaring and tumbling through the notes and giving the ancient words a lilting melody, but even though Edward had studied Latin since he was young in attempts to decipher his father's alchemy books, he understood none of what was being said. Still, Ed allowed the music to break like a wave around him and felt a sense of clarity return to his mind as she sang, as if the jumble of thoughts that had rattled through his mind all evening suddenly fell into place. 

Before he knew it, the performance had ended, and a heavy silence fell over the audience. He blinked owlishly and turned to Sara to find the same expression on her face. The room seemed to draw a collective breath in that heavy silence before it shattered with the sound of applause. Edward gave Sara a smile and rose to his feet, applauding. Others soon followed his example, and the girl on stage turned bright pink at the reaction, curtseying deeply in acknowledgement before scurrying off-stage. Ed continued clapping for a few moments more before he touched Sara's arm, nodding at the exit; she understood and followed as he began weaving his way through the crowd.

"She's hardly tone-deaf, don't you think?" Sara asked as they exited the church, Edward hurrying her towards his parked car.

Ed dug in his pockets for his keys and shook his head. "I was wrong, I admit," he answered. "She had an amazing voice. Do you know who she was, or is she just some nun?"

"I don't, but I'll ask Mrs. Halifax the next time I see her," Sara promised, sliding into the passenger seat as Ed opened the door. "Thank you for tonight," she added as Edward settled into the driver's seat and started the car. "It's been a very happy birthday."

"You're welcome," came Ed's embarrassed answer, though he immediately busied himself with the task of driving. "Happy birthday, again."

The two rode back uptown in companionable silence, with Sara making an occasional comment on the people they passed. During a lull, when Ed had the car stopped at an intersection to allow pedestrians passage, he spoke, his voice hesitant, "Sara?"

"Yes Edward?" She seemed to sense that something was on his mind and said no more, content to allow him his own pace.

"About your birthday gift," he said. "I hope you won't feel obligated to do anything drastic for those earrings. The necklace is beautiful on you, and there's no need to wear the earrings if you're not comfortable with that kind of thing." A loud honk from the car waiting behind them jolted Ed out of his speech, and he fell silent, returning to the task of driving without another word.

Perplexed by his words, Sara gave her companion a searching look, which he ignored as he turned right and found enough space by the curb to park. She allowed herself a silent sigh and touched the necklace at her throat involuntarily as she opened the door. Another day, and another mystery that she suspected would remain tantalizingly unsolved was added to her knowledge of Edward Elric. "Why don't you come on up," she invited, "and stay for a cup of tea?"

Edward stared wide-eyed at her for a moment, startled by the unexpected invitation. "I—I'd be glad to," came the stammered answer as he followed her up to the familiar brick building.

* * *

**Never-ending Historical Notes**

_the dining room, ... the caricatures that sprinkled the cream-coloured walls and the parade of finely dressed men and women_ - Founded in 1926, The Palm restaurant is one of the most famous historical restaurants in New York City. It started out as a simple Italian restaurant and gradually became a world-renowned steakhouse. There are still cartoon caricatures on the walls of the original Palm restaurant from when the owners would trade poor cartoonists a plate of spaghetti for a doodle on the wall.

_a tall, pale-coloured church on Avenue B_ - St. Brigid's, also known as Famine Church, is located on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Built in 1848 by Irish shipwrights who came to the US to escape the Great Irish Famine (1845-1849), the church boasted seven 25 ft tall stained-glass windows (estimated to be worth $100,000 apiece), which were unceremoniously destroyed when the Archdiocese of New York disbanded the parish in 2006. The vaulted ceiling of St.Brigid's has often drawn comparison to the hull of a boat, undoubtedly due to the former occupation of its builders.


	10. Measure of a Year

**Measure of a Year**

_October 3, 1930_

Alphonse Elric rounded a bend in the park path and saw the dark form of his older brother perching on a rock as he gazed at the shimmering water. Without a word, Al followed the path to the duck pond, allowing the sound of his feet on the carpet of dry, crackling leaves to announce his presence.

He stopped a half dozen paces from the rock and waited in silence to be acknowledge before he would intrude on his brother. "I had a feeling you'd be able to find me," Edward Elric said without turning, his voice husky and thick from disuse.

With a shrug, Al closed the last gap between them and took a seat next to Ed on the rock. "You always knew where to find me," he answered simply. This close to his brother, Alphonse could make out the tracks of dried tears on Ed's face but said nothing, knowing that today of all days he could not press the older man, that his brother would speak in his own time on this one day.

Al waited in silence as he watched a solitary duck drift across the water, allowing the crisp autumn air to wash over his uncovered face like an elusive kiss. Next to him, Ed shifted, pulling his dark coat closer as if drawing deeper into himself as his eyes continued to gaze, unseeing, across the coruscating water.

"It's been seven years," Edward eventually said. He did not turn to look at his younger brother, nor did he wait for Alphonse's acknowledgment of the fact, continuing to speak with the air of someone who had long rehearsed his words. "I wonder what things are like now. Maybe Lior's been rebuilt, and maybe Mustang's been drummed out of the military. That would be nice. Bet you Lieutenant Hawkeye is still scary."

"I don't think she'll ever _not _be scary," Al agreed, as he allowed himself a small chuckle. The sound seemed to break the tension in the air, and Ed turned, giving his brother a ghost of a smile. "I hope they're all doing well though," Alphonse continued. "General Mustang, Mr. Armstrong, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Mrs. Hughes… Elysia must be all grown up now." When Ed did not respond, Al lapsed back into silence, both of the brothers all too aware of the subject they were dancing around, the same subject they had danced around on this day for the past three years.

"Seven years." The whisper barely carried to Al despite his proximity, and he fought the urge to put an arm around his older brother, rather allowing Ed his own way of dealing with his loss. "Is she happy now, wherever she is?" There was a pause, and even though Edward's words were little more than the suggestion of sound on a breath, Al imagined he heard the pain behind them, all the accumulated pain and guilt his brother hid from the world. "Whoever she's with?"

They sat together for what seemed to Al to be hours, until the cool autumn air had seeped through his coat and settled into his very bones. "Come on, Brother," Al finally said, his own voice rusty from disuse. "You're going to catch a cold if you sit out here any longer." He stood and held out his hand, ignoring his brother's red rimmed eyes, the only testament to the tears Edward only allowed himself to shed on this one day for all that they had lost.

Ed nodded and a shadow of his usual mask descended over his face as he took Alphonse's hand. As they retraced their steps down the path flanked by skeletal trees whose leaves formed the carpet beneath their feet, Al caught his brother's whisper on the wind. "I hope she _is_ happy."

* * *

_October 10, 1930_

Loose sheets of paper covered in numbers laid strewn about the lab bench, making Edward look like an annoyed blond island adrift in a sea of data as he rifled through the mess. Every so often, he would pick up a particular sheet, scan the top rows quickly, then either add it to a slightly less haphazard stack on his left or release it back into the wild. The sound of a shutting door made the young man pause in his work and look up, just in time to see the professor walk in, escorted by a woman with a basket on her arm and a warm, motherly smile on her face.

"Mrs. Roberts!" Ed exclaimed, leaping out of his seat to cross the room and relieve the older woman of her burden. "What are you doing here? It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Edward," Dr. Roberts' wife answered as she allowed him to take the basket from her arm. "Since it's getting cold, I thought you and my Leonard could use a hot meal. How is your brother?"

With a glance between the paper covered lab bench and its twin, which held a curved metal plate, Ed brought the basket to the second bench, depositing it on the table before moving the metal plate into an out of the way corner. "Alphonse is doing well," he answered. "The Times decided it was too valuable to have him around, since he's qualified to be both a photographer and a reporter." As Dr. Roberts took a seat at the table and reached for the basket, Ed leveled a glare at his mentor. "You made your wife come all the way down here just to bring you a hot meal?" he demanded.

"Don't try to make me feel guilty. I'm too hungry to pay attention to you." the professor said as he uncovered the basket and lifted out an earthenware dish. "You even brought plates! Evelyn, you are a wonder."

At Ed's loud sigh and upward glance, Evelyn Roberts laughed and took out a stack of plates. "Thank you for your concern, Edward," she said as she uncovered the dish and began serving. "Do you like baked beans? There is also some brown bread and butter in the basket if you'd be so good as to take it out." Without a word, Ed complied, laying out the freshly baked bread and butter just in time to receive his own plate of food.

"Did you read the paper this morning, Edward?" Dr. Roberts asked conversationally as he buttered his bread. His mouth full of baked beans, Ed could only shake his head, and the professor took the opportunity to mimic Ed's earlier expression, rolling his eyes at his pupil's lack of manners. "Looks like the English lost an airship this week. It went down near Paris, and the crash ignited the hydrogen."

At the news, Ed shuddered, remembering the sounds of a crashing airship, the feel of fire licking at his skin as he lay pinned. He knew without asking that there was little chance for survivors of such a crash. "I hate zeppelins," he said. "They're people ferrying firebombs."

The professor chewed his bread, musing, and seemed about to speak when his wife interrupted him. "You have the rest of the afternoon to talk shop, Leonard, and I haven't seen Edward in a while." At his wife's gentle remonstration, Dr. Roberts nodded and spooned more of the hot food into his mouth, falling silent. "So what are your plans for next year, Edward? Leonard tells me that you'll be finished with your coursework soon."

At the news, Ed nearly choked in surprise. "I am?" he asked after a fit of coughing. "I haven't heard anything about this. I thought I had at least another year to go."

"He hasn't?" Evelyn frowned at her husband, who chewed even more furiously on his bread. "Leonard, why haven't you told Edward what you've told me?"

Faced with twin glares from his student and his wife, Leonard Roberts swallowed loudly and cleared his throat before speaking. "I was going to next week after I've visited the university," he explained. "I wanted to confirm it with the official records first." Shaking his head at his wife, the professor turned to his student and continued, "Given your experience in Germany, you would have been able to finish the coursework in two years, if you hadn't agreed to be my lab assistant. It's slowed you down, but we've done a lot of good work, even with that mouth of yours. I'm not sure what'll happen to the research once you head off for greener pastures."

"Mrs. Roberts will probably come in to find you buried under your data," Ed sniped with a grin, though he nodded his head to his mentor in acknowledgement of the compliment. "But I don't know what I want to do. I suppose I could stay in the city; I haven't given it much thought."

The professor buttered another slice of bread, a faraway expression on his face. "I think I heard a rumor that Goddard's moved to New Mexico," he said. "Might be worth a trip out there to see, when summer comes."

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth and Ed blinked in surprise. "Robert Goddard?" he asked. "I thought he was still in Massachusetts and couldn't get funding."

"Someone convinced our patrons that his work was interesting, too," Dr. Roberts answered. "I hear he doesn't like the attention he gets up here, but it's a good chance that he'll take you on given your credentials."

Ed finally noticed the fork halfway to his mouth and moved it the rest of the way. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to spend some time out there. Even if he's not looking for an assistant, he'd be interesting to talk to," he mused, chewing thoughtfully.

* * *

_January 1, 1931_

Despite the steady snowfall that, Edward felt almost uncomfortably warm as Sara clutched his hand in excitement and they echoed the crowd's countdown, their eyes riveted to the ball of glowing light above their heads. Though he had initially rejected the idea when Alphonse and his new girl, Maureen, had suggested it, Ed had to admit that the crowd's eagerness was infectious, and he felt his own pulse raise as the ball neared the building's roof.

"ONE!" The roar of the crowd was deafening, as bucketfuls of confetti joined the snowflakes in a thickening storm of downward drifting white.

Ed grinned at the spectacle and pulled at Sara's hand, brushing his lips against her cheek as she turned to face him. "Happy New Year," he whispered against her ear as he pulled away. He couldn't hear what she said over the crowd, but she leaned over and responded in kind, brushing familiar soft lips against his rough cheek. He reached up and brushed confetti and snow from her hair, nodding towards the sidewalks, where enterprising stores were still open and advertising hot drinks.

"Al!" Edward yelled at the top of his lungs. "We're going to get drinks over there!" When his eyes landed on his brother, though, a look of disgust came over Ed's face and he began tugging at Sara's arm. Curious at the sudden change, Sara looked back over her shoulder and had to laugh as she saw what had repulsed Ed: Alphonse and Maureen appeared connected at the lips as they continued ringing in the new year with a deep kiss.

"Those two have no sense of public decency," Edward grumbled as they ducked out of the way of the revelers and into the relative calm of an open café. The proprietor waved in acknowledgment and Ed stepped into the growing line.

Sara giggled at his words. "It's New Year's Day! Don't be so hard on them." She dusted confetti off her shoulders and added teasingly, "Besides, it wouldn't hurt for you to be a little _less_ proper once in a while, Edward." The only response Sara received was an indignant sputtering, which only served to deepen the smile on her face.

It wasn't long before they stood at the window, watching the crowds dance in the streets as they sipped steaming mugs of hot chocolate. "Look, they finally decided to surface for air," Ed said as he nodded towards the figures of his brother and the redheaded girl darting breathlessly towards the café.

A sharp jab of Sara's elbow accompanied her caution to be nice, and he grumbled half-heartedly into his drink as the other half of their party entered the warmth of the shop. "We didn't want to get you drinks and have them get cold," Sara explained to the two with a nod towards the counter. "But you should get some cocoa. It's very good."

Al made a face at the implication of her words and allowed himself to be dragged into the growing line by Maureen. "_You_ can make fun of him but I can't?" Ed demanded. "How is this fair?"

Another warm laugh bubbled out of Sara as she rested her head against Ed's left shoulder. "I guess Alphonse likes me more," she teased, beaming up at him. Edward merely rolled his eyes in response and sighed, which provoked another fit of giggles.

Fighting the grin that tugged at his mouth at her infectious laughter, Ed glanced down at the woman leaning against him and shook his head. "You must be tired," he remarked. "You're starting to do the giggling thing again."

Sara's laughter had died down and she stood with Edward in companionable silence by the time Alphonse and Maureen returned with their hot cocoa. "So do you have new year's resolutions?" Maureen asked as she approached the pair. "I resolve to save enough from my work at the shop to move somewhere less vermin infested." The faintest hint of a brogue in her voice gave the words a strangely lyrical quality, and Sara couldn't help but smile at the redhead.

"I resolve to teach him some manners," Sara said, reaching up and giving Edward's blond ponytail a tug. "And maybe get him a haircut." Al all but roared with laughter, while Sara and Maureen chuckled, and even Ed allowed himself a smile. "It's a lost cause, isn't it?" Sara asked when it became quiet again. "Well, then I suppose I will resolve to be a better doctor to my patients." She waved away protests of her already prodigious skills and pointed to Al. "Your turn, Alphonse."

Al blinked rapidly in surprise, and ran a hand through his wheat-coloured hair. "I resolve to try something new every month," he said. "Even if it's something small like a new kind of food. Brother?"

Edward frowned and shook his head. "I don't make resolutions," he said. "It's just another year, nothing special."

The look Maureen gave him could only be described as a pout. "But isn't there anything you're looking forward to doing or changing at all this year?" she pressed.

"I suppose there is," Ed admitted after a moment of thought. "I suppose I am looking forward to going to New Mexico."

"You're going where?" Sara asked, surprise evident on her face.

"Out to New Mexico," Ed repeated, confused. "Professor Roberts suggested I go out there to visit Dr. Goddard, to see if Goddard would take me on as a research partner. Didn't I tell you about this when the professor brought it up?"

Sara shook her head, the festivities forgotten in light of Ed's revelation. "You just told me that Dr. Roberts said you were just about finished with him," she said. "Nothing about moving to New Mexico."

Ed's eyes flickered over to Alphonse, who gently steered Maureen away and towards a non-descript photograph hanging on the café wall. "It's just a trip out to see the man," Ed said. "I'm not going to suddenly pick up and move to New Mexico." Seeing that Sara was still far from convinced, Edward reached out and took her hand in his left. "It's not until this summer," he continued. "I won't suddenly decide I like it there and not come back, all right? I promise I'll come back."

Sara held his gaze, blue eyes flickering over the now-familiar golden depths, until she satisfied herself with the sincerity she found within them. "I'll hold you to that," she answered softly with an accompanying squeeze of his hand. Ed smiled in relief and pulled her close, holding her against him in an uncharacteristically public display of affection. "Come on. Al can only avert his eyes for so long," she teased, detaching herself from his embrace with a twinkle in her eye as Alphonse laughed, having managed to catch her words.

* * *

_May 1, 1931_

Alphonse Elric shifted his camera's carrying case to his left shoulder as he approached the storefront clinic, watching as an unsteady older woman pulled a young boy with a bandaged arm towards the door. Without a word, Al paused at the entrance and held the door open with a smile, ushering the woman and child through. The woman grunted her thanks, and Al followed inside, and took a spot in the corner of the small waiting room.

The woman sat herself and the boy down in the mismatched chairs lining the wall, and almost immediately Sara appeared, her hair tied back and a spotless white smock covering her clothes. "Mrs. Laurence!" The woman gave her a curt nod, and Sara smiled at the boy. "You're here to change Harvey's bandages, right?" The boy nodded vigorously, holding up his arm and displaying the stained, fraying bandages. "Dr. Marcoh is busy at the moment, but I can change your bandages for you if you'd like, Harvey."

The boy grinned and hopped out of his chair, but before he had taken more than two steps towards Sara, the woman spoke, "We'll wait for Dr. Marcoh. I'd prefer Harvey be treated by a real doctor, and not some overeager nurse." Sara's lips thinned and her eyes sparked with anger, but the moment passed quickly, and Sara turned away from the woman and child and to him. "Alphonse!" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here? Not hurt, I hope."

Al shook his head and patted the camera case hanging from his shoulder. "I got assigned to the opening ceremony," he explained, "and got done earlier than I expect, so I thought I'd come visit if you weren't busy." Involuntarily, he glanced over at Mrs. Laurence as he spoke, and Sara frowned at the acknowledgment.

"Not at all, come on in," she invited, nodding to the small room behind her that served as both examination room and office.

"Bad time for me to come visiting unannounced?" Al asked, settling into one of the two chairs in the room as Sara closed the door behind her.

She shrugged and took a seat in the other chair. "Not at all. It happens every once in a while. There're plenty of people who come in who won't let me treat them and would rather wait for Dr. Marcoh." By the faintly bitter edge of her voice, Al guessed that it happened more frequently than Sara was going to admit. "But there are some of them who think I do better work, and they won't let Marcoh near them." She smiled and shrugged again. "Enough about that. How was the ceremony? I bet you'll make the front page again."

"It was a big success, given the state of things," Al answered. "It does make for a great spectacle, doesn't it?"

"It's the tallest building in the world; it'd be a shame _not_ to make a scene at its completion," Sara laughed. "And how's your brother? We've both been so busy that I haven't seen him in days."

"You know Ed. He's busy finishing up with Dr. Roberts and getting ready for his trip. I think he's more excited about that than finishing school." Al chuckled to himself and added, "He's decided he's going to take a train instead of driving his car. He's annoyed that he'll be at the mercy of the railroad's schedule, but at least he won't drive himself into a tree."

The smile Sara gave him was weak, and Al stopped speaking to regard her carefully. "Are you still worried about this trip, Sara?" Al asked. "My brother's not going to move to New Mexico just because of an old man with a rocket, you know."

Sara shook her head and raised her hands to stop Alphonse from continuing. "It's not really that," she said with the air of someone choosing her words with care. "If working with this man Goddard is what he wants to do, I'll be happy for him. It's just…" She trailed off and twisted the smock in her hands as she organized her thoughts into words. "I'm not sure how I should feel about this, that's all. Edward and I… I think we can have a future together, and sometimes I get the feeling he does too. But he's never said anything, so I don't know if I really have the right to expect him to come back for me. I don't know what I am to him."

"Sara," Al's voice was soft as he spoke, and the sound made her raise her eyes to him. "My brother doesn't make promises lightly, and he will fight to the death to keep the ones he makes." He reached over and touched her arm lightly, with a gentle smile. "By promising you that he'll come back, he's telling you exactly what you are to him. The only way Ed won't come back is if Mr. Goddard straps him to a rocket, and even then he still might manage it." Sara laughed and Al continued, "Trust me; it's been years since Edward worked in rocketry. He's changed a lot in those years, and his priorities are different now. Ed doesn't want to pick up and move to New Mexico just because there might be work there. He's just excited because he was inspired by Mr. Goddard's work and wants the opportunity to tell him so. He's going to come right back to you."

* * *

_June 8, 1931_

"I can't help but feel about 10 years younger," Edward remarked as he raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he peered down the platform. "Sure you don't want to come with me, Al?"

"I've got a job here," Al reminded his brother with a smile. "Some of us can't just go on a vacation." He nudged Sara, who stood quiet between the two brothers. "Am I right?"

Sara nodded and elbowed Ed in the ribs. "Don't forget to send letters back to those of us slaving away back home," she reminded him. "I want stories to tell my patients." Ed nodded wordlessly as the train roared up, a cloud of dust and smoke blinding them all momentarily. "Come on, you'd better get going," she said when the noise died down, nodding towards the rush of people who had already approached the train.

"Have a good trip, Brother," Al said as he gave Ed a one-armed hug.

"I will," came the answer. Despite his excitement over the past months, now that the moment of departure had arrived, Edward seemed speechless. "I'll write," he promised Sara as he picked up the valise by his side. She nodded, a tremulous smile on her face as she leaned over and touched her lips to his cheek. "I'll be back before you know it," Ed said as he blinked rapidly. Sara and Al both nodded again, and Ed tightened his grip on his luggage as he stumbled towards the train, the short trip taking a surprisingly long time as he turned back every so often to wave at them.

He spoke briefly to the man standing in front of the train car, and with a last wave of his gloved hand, Edward disappeared into the sleek, shining car, his face reappearing moments later, waving to them from a window. Sara and Al watched wordlessly as he settled in and the train's engine began the soft, rolling rumble that signaled its impending departure. Alphonse and Sara stood at the platform, waving at the departing train, until the caboose was lost from sight.

"He's right, you know," Al said as they joined the other groups of well-wishers who began drifting away from the platform. "It's only a month. He'll be back before you know it." Sara said nothing, and Al reached over to give her hand a squeeze. "Let me walk you home."

* * *

**Still Compulsively Researching:**

_the English lost an airship this week. It went down near Paris_ – The R101 Airship was lost on a voyage that was supposed to take it from England to Karachi. On October 5, 1930, the R101 went down near Beauvais, France when strong winds tore away the outer covering of the airship and ruptured the gasbags. The death count of the R101 accident was 49 lives, which is higher than that of the _Hindenburg_ seven years later, and second only to that of the _USS Akron_ in 1933.

_Goddard's moved to New Mexico_ – Robert H. Goddard is one of the pioneers of liquid propelled rocketry, and performed many of his first test flights in Massachusetts. When his notoriety became so great that the attention disrupted his research, he moved to Roswell, New Mexico with the financial backing of Charles Lindbergh and the Guggenheim family.

_I got assigned to the opening ceremony_ – The opening ceremony for the Empire State Building occurred on May 1, 1931, and included a great deal of ceremony, including having President Herbert Hoover light the building from Washington, DC with the push of a button. The Empire State Building was the world's tallest skyscraper for 41 years, and is currently the second tallest building in the US (and tallest in New York City).


	11. Two Thousand Miles of Correspondence

**Two Thousand Miles of Correspondence**_  
_

_June 9, 1931  
Somewhere between New York and New Mexico_

Dear Sara,

Since I promised I would write, I figure I would start now, while I'm on the train. I hope the motion doesn't make my handwriting too hard to read, but it helps to pass the time and I want to tell you about my trip so far.

I have been drifting in and out of sleep, so I'm not sure exactly where the train is, geographically speaking. But, I can tell you that the country we're passing through is beautiful. The trees are thick and green, and the sky is bright. I think I saw deer earlier, but we were too fast and too loud for me to be sure.

During these two days, I'm reminded of how _big_ this country is. I remember back when I was younger and traveling with Alphonse, how we would be able to make it from home to the capital city in little more than a day if the trains were running slow. Now, it's going to take me at least four days just to get to New Mexico, and that's not even completely across the country.

I think we're supposed to stop at a station around lunchtime to refuel the train as well as take on passengers. If there is time for me to mail this postcard there, I will. If not, then I'll add to it this evening. I will also remember to pick up postcards for you and Al. If he had come, he would have taken some beautiful pictures, but I'm glad he's home to keep you company.

Edward

* * *

_June 9, 1931  
Somewhere between New York and New Mexico_

Dear Alphonse,

It's been less than a day, but this trip is already reminding me of old times. We're practically flying through a road cut into the woods, and all you can see out of the windows are trees. I wonder how strangely familiar things will get once we hit desert. It's a shame you couldn't take the time off work to come with me like we used to, but things do change. I'll have to find more postcards. The one I sent Sara was just one I picked up from some kid peddling stuff to riders, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Speaking of change, you would not believe how fast these trains are. It seems they're made of steel, so they're much lighter than trains used to be and that means they can go a _lot_ faster. But the noise is unbelievable, and the seats aren't very comfortable. It took me forever to fall asleep last night, and now my shoulders are stiff. Three more days of this, and I'll be in Roswell, New Mexico. Hopefully I'll still be able to walk by then.

I'll write again soon, maybe once I find decent postcards.

Ed

* * *

_June 11, 1931  
Nearing Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Sara,

The conductor says we'll reach Roswell by mid-afternoon, so I thought I'd take the time to write again. Given that as soon as I get there, I'll have to find a place to stay as well as find a way to approach Dr. Goddard, I suspect there won't be much time left for writing, though I will try my best to let you know how things are.

I don't think I've mentioned it, but the desert is beautiful. We've passed rolling hills and flat plains, but right now I am looking out the window, and there's pure beige sand with the occasional cactus or bush for contrast, sitting under the purest blue sky. Even while passing through the flat plains where nothing changed, I didn't the same sense of vastness as I do out here. The sky _feels_ larger here, but it also feels closer, as if I can just reach up and touch it, if that makes any sense. Sunset was beautiful, as if the sun had set the very clouds on fire. I know that hardly a scientific description, but there's something about this place.

After I finish this letter, I will write Alphonse a postcard I picked up at our last stop. It depicts a desert sunset, but it pales in comparison to the real thing; I'm sure you'll read him this letter, so I won't bother writing the same description to him. I can't help but wish that both you and Al are here to share this with me. He'd love to take pictures, and I think you'd understand why the scenery touches me so. I think I understand why Goddard moved out here now; the sky is so open that it doesn't feel out of reach. Maybe someday we can all take a trip out here.

A funny thing happened this morning. I woke up to find a little girl, around six years old, curled up on the seat next to me, using my right arm as a pillow. She must have gotten up to use the facilities in the middle of the night and just wandered into the wrong seat. And since there was no hysterical woman accusing me of kidnapping, I suspected her mother was also still asleep.

I didn't know what to do, so I stayed still, shifting a little every so often, hoping the girl would wake up but also afraid she would scream the moment she realized she was sleeping on a stranger. She was a deep sleeper, and the rest of me was feeling stiff by the time she finally woke up. She sat up, blinked, and in the calmest voice I'd ever heard from a child, said, "Thank you for letting me sleep, Mister. My name is Audrey. What's yours?"

She stayed with me until her mother woke up and came to get her. Right now, Audrey's seated two rows in front of me, and every so often she stands on her seat, turns around, and waves. There she goes again. I should go up there and tell her not to do that before she hits her head or something.

Well, that's great. Now Audrey is sitting with me. When I went to see her, her mother looked so tired that I decided to talk to just Audrey, but then the little thing followed me back to my seat. I suppose this is better in the long run, but I can't write much more with a little girl poking at me every few seconds, and I think if I ignore her too much she's going to start pulling on my hair or climbing on me. This is as good a place to end this letter as any, so I'll just say goodbye, and promise to write again soon.

Edward

* * *

_June 13, 1931  
Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Al,

I finally have a place to stay for the next couple weeks. Roswell's a pretty small town, and their hotel is really a glorified shack, so I had to ask around and see if anyone would take in a boarder for a few weeks. As you can see by the return address on this, I found a place with a nice family. The parents aren't very old, though they already have a boy, and another baby on the way. The husband, Lionel Davies, didn't like the idea of taking on a boarder, but since he works, he's worried about his wife Emmy getting around the house without help. I have to say, I understand his concern. Sometimes I'm afraid she's going to get up too fast and topple over.

I've spent most of today helping Emmy, and she's been telling me about the people here in Roswell. It seems Robert Goddard has been here for a couple of years now, and is pretty quiet. From what Emmy says, it sounds like the whole town thinks Goddard's a crazy old man. This gives me hope. I know how to deal with crazy old men.

Well, it looks like I'm out of room.

Wish me luck,

Ed

* * *

_June 16, 1931  
Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Sara,

Well, I've been here almost a week and have seen nothing of Dr. Goddard. I have, however, fetched, carried, washed, and opened jars for Emmy Davis. It's not that I've been too busy helping Emmy out (who is, unbelievably, _still_ getting bigger), it's the simple fact that Goddard refuses to see me. Every morning, I pound on his door and sit on his porch. I sometimes see his wife rustle the curtains at my knocks, but she never opens the door, as if she thinks I'm going to force my way in. I usually stay for a couple hours before I realize Emmy probably needs help with something.

I think I'll stay away from Goddard's house tomorrow, and just take a look around Roswell. I think I've mentioned it before, but this place is really something. I may ask around to see if camping is done around here; a night spent under this wide sky with all of its stars would really be something to experience. But if it's going to mean the risk of getting eaten by wild animals, I suppose I would have to pass. I'm not quite sure what exists out here, but animals with big teeth seem like they'd be comfortable in this desert.

Alphonse's letter came yesterday, and he included a picture of you with Havoc, Mustang, and Hawkeye. That brother of mine really does have a gift capturing the moment. The picture is next to my bedside table right now, and it makes me smile every time I see it. I might have to hide it though, or Emmy will spend the next week trying to pry every detail about you out of me. Or worse yet, she'll get her husband on it. That man's too nosy for his own good.

Hopefully, I will have more luck with Goddard next week,

Edward

* * *

_June 18, 1931  
Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Al,

Sara must have told you by now the problems I've had trying to get Dr. Goddard to acknowledge my existence. But today, Emmy asked me to go with her to the grocer's and since I had nothing more productive to do, I agreed. As Emmy was choosing vegetables to buy, a graying woman comes up to us and taps her on the shoulder, asking after her and the baby.

This happens a lot whenever Emmy goes out (I suspect half the time it's because the speaker thinks she is about to pop), so I let my mind wander, watching the flies that make it through the mosquito netting into the store zoom around the goods. I'm startled back into attention by Emmy tapping me on the arm and saying, "Mrs. Goddard, have you met Mr. Elric? He's boarding with us; Lionel thinks it'd be good to have someone help me while he's out working."

The woman gives me one look that says she knows _exactly_ who I am, and I swear that my ears turn red. "Mr. Elric, is it?" she asks, "And what brings you to Roswell?"

I guess I never got around to telling Emmy why I'm here, or else she may not have been so nonchalant about introducing me to Goddard's wife. I figure it's best to continue keeping the fact that I've spent the last week sitting on the Goddards' porch from Emmy in case she yells at me for being rude, so I tell Goddard's wife that I was a student from New York University.

She softens ever so slightly to learn that I was a student, but there's sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Elric," she says before I have even finished speaking, "but my husband isn't looking for research assistants."

I explain to her that I wasn't looking to work with her husband, just to speak to him, but she doesn't look convinced. I mention that I'd studied with Dr. Oberth, that I wanted Goddard's opinion on Oberth's work, and her eyebrows climb. I guess Goddard talks to his wife about his work. She doesn't seem convinced that I'm not after work with her husband, but she does seem more interested in what I have to say.

When we left the grocer's, Mrs. Goddard tells Emmy to be careful, and that she'll send word to the Davises after she "talks to Robert about that Mr. Elric." It's a slim chance, but much better than it was a couple days ago.

Ed

PS – I included the postcard I picked up for you in this letter because I had too much to write to fit on it. I saw it and thought of you.

* * *

_June 23, 1931  
Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Sara,

Sorry it's been so long between letters, but I finally managed to talk to Robert Goddard. I met his wife while helping Emmy buy groceries, and a day later a note came from Mrs. Goddard, asking Lionel and Emmy over to visit, and to bring their new boarder. I suspected that Mrs. Goddard was going to pretend it's all a happy coincidence, and I was right. Dr. Goddard was pretty annoyed when he realized his wife had tricked him, but he seemed interested once I mentioned studying in Germany and his eyes practically popped out of his head when I mentioned having worked with Dr. Oberth.

So I've spent the last couple days with Dr. Goddard; we've talked about his theories and his research, as well as my work back then. I'd forgotten how fascinating rocketry is, and Dr. Goddard's enthusiasm is infectious. I've gotten to take a look at Nell, his first rocket, and I have to say, it's an interesting piece of machinery. It didn't get very far, but the fact that it got_anywhere_ is amazing.

Still, the more I talked to Dr. Goddard, the more I realized that it's not really what I want to do anymore. I guess I've gotten too old and too cynical to think that rocket science is going to get me where I want to go. It still interests me theoretically, but my feet are firmly planted on Earth, and I think it's better to focus on technology that has immediate results, that makes travel safer for people. It'll be decades before Goddard's rockets can even dream of carrying people; until then, there are more pressing concerns for me, like keeping people out of zeppelins.

I'm sorry, I think I'm rambling. I just wanted to tell you about my progress with Goddard, and to let you know that I'm enjoying my time here in Roswell, but I will be coming back to New York. I think I may be starting to miss the cats. Emmy and Lionel's little boy is even more of a nuisance than Havoc, Hawkeye, and that stupid grey cat. At least they don't drool all over me when they climb into my lap.

I'll see you soon,

Edward

* * *

_June 25, 1931  
Outside Roswell, New Mexico_

Dear Al,

It's around three o'clock, and I am about five miles outside Roswell, watching as Goddard sets up his latest apparatus. The man may not be actively looking for a research assistant, but when an idiot with the proper background drops into his lap, Goddard is smart enough to use him. Yesterday, Goddard mentioned in passing that he had another prototype he wanted to test, and I replied that I'd love to see it. So this morning (after I made sure Emmy had all the open jars she needed off the high shelves) I found myself lifting and hauling his wire-frame stand, tanks, and other gear. At least he has a car. If Goddard was going to use me as a pack mule for a five mile hike into the desert, I'd have thrown his equipment at him and caught the next train back to New York.

Sitting out here while Goddard assembles his apparatus (again, I might add), with nothing but sand as far as the eye can see and the sun roasting me through my clothes, I can almost imagine that I'm back, that it's a lifetime and a world ago. I can almost imagine traveling again; to just _go_ until every train, every hotel room starts blending into the same memories. Almost. Traveling like that now would be a lie, don't you think? I wouldn't be searching for something, but running away, and that's got to make a difference. And this time there are letters, letters I actually send, instead of letters I write, threaten to burn, and just end up tucking away in my suitcase.

This trip has been good for me, Al. I've realized that this, rocketry, isn't what I want to do anymore. Before I left, Dr. Roberts mentioned that he would take me back as a doctoral student if I didn't find what I was looking for out here, and I think I will take him up on the offer. I've realized also, for the first time in a very long time, that I'm _content. _Not happy, no. There are too many regrets for that, but contentment is certainly more than I expected. I have a purpose now, a goal, here in this world, and I have people I care about around me.

I know this is one letter you probably won't share with Sara, for obvious reasons, but I hope you'll tell her that I miss her, that New Mexico has been good for me, and that I'm ready to come home.

Oh_hell_. I think something just exploded. I'll post this as soon as I can,

Ed

PS – No harm done. It was just Goddard dropping a fuel canister and its cap popping off.

* * *

_June 28, 1931  
Somewhere between New Mexico and New York_

Dear Sara,

Well, I'm on my way home. I'm not sure why I'm writing this postcard, since it's likely that I will beat it home. If nothing else, I can hand it to you as I get off the train. Meeting Dr. Goddard has been rewarding, and I can now say that I've spoken to the man, and debated his theory against Oberth's. I know you've been worried about this trip, that I would take a liking to the work and stay in New Mexico, but as you can see, I'm coming back. Thanks for being patient with me while I figured out exactly what I was doing.

I have so many stories about this trip, so many things to show you, but I think a lot of it will pale in comparison to the real thing. Maybe someday we can make the trip to New Mexico, and I can show you what a desert sunset looks like.

Edward

* * *

**More Historical Footnotes**

_it's going to take me at least four days just to get to New Mexico_ – A guess on my part, having been unable to locate good estimates for how fast trains ran back in the early 1930s. I simply doubled the time it took Amtrak now, so it's probably more wishful thinking on Ed's part than anything else

_I mentioned having worked with Dr. Oberth_ – Hermann Oberth is considered one of the founding fathers of modern rocketry, along with Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and Robert Goddard. He was inspired by Jules Verne's _From the Earth to the Moon _and pursued his research mainly in Germany. He also served as a scientific consultant for Fritz Lang's movie _Frau im Mond _(_The Woman in the Moon_), thought to be the first film to ever have scenes set in space.

_Nell, his first rocket…It didn't get very far_ – Nell was launched in Auburn, Massachusetts on March 16, 1926 as the first liquid-propellant rocket flight in the world. The flight lasted 2.5 seconds and lifted the rocket 41 feet into the air. Nell is currently on display at Space Center Houston, the visitor center of Johnson Space Center, home of Mission Control.


	12. Settling

**Settling**

The late November sun shone brightly outside the Elrics' living room window, its light intensified as it bounced off the snow that had collected on every flat surface in the city. Edward paid no attention to the sight, his eyes riveted to the notebook in his lap. He occasionally tapped his pencil in an idle rhythm against the arm of the davenport when it was not being used to scribble some number or comment in the notebook's margins, while the ginger cat that sprawled along the top of the couch eyed his bobbing ponytail.

"Somehow I don't think Sara will be able to make it over today either," Alphonse said, turning to stare at his brother from his position sprawled out on the rug in front of the radiator.

In response, Edward looked up from his work and peered out the window, his free hand reaching into his coat pocket. "I hope she doesn't try," he said. "The city's still looking pretty solidly frozen."

Al silently regarded Ed for a moment until Havoc, who up until that moment had been content to wander around his torso, decided it was time to explore his face. Gently pushing the kitten away, he sat up. "Brother, what's in your pocket?" he asked. "You've been fiddling with it for days."

Ed, whose attention had already returned to his notebook, looked up in surprise, only to be rewarded with a faceful of cat fur as Hawkeye chose that precise moment to flick her tail at him. "What did you say, Al?" he asked, waving his pencil at Hawkeye, who yawned at the threat.

"Your pocket," Al repeated patiently, pointing to Ed's right hand, which was still toying with something in his coat. "You've had something in there all week."

Looking down, Ed seemed to notice for the first time that his hand was in his pocket. "Noth—," he began reflexively as he removed his hand. Something seemed to change his mind though, and he shook his head, reaching back for the mystery object in question. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you first," he said. "Hell, you'd probably help me figure out whether she'd like it, with your womanizing ways."

Al frowned, though his eyes stayed riveted to the small item Ed had drawn out. "I'm not a womanizer, Brother," he admonished. Ed turned the small box over in his hand, contemplating before handing it wordlessly to Al. "I just haven't found what I'm looking for," he added distractedly as he examined the box.

It was small enough that he could have concealed it in one hand, with an embossed signet on the top that he recognized as the logo of a jewelry store. "Have you found Sara's Christmas present already?" he asked as he opened it. "You started early this year, Brother." Alphonse's voice abandoned him as his eyes fell on the item in the box. He'd been expecting another necklace, possibly a brooch; he certainly had not been expecting a simple band of gold with a small blue stone set in the middle of a golden flower.

"It's not a Christmas present, Al," Edward said softly as Al looked up, eyes wide. "I think I'm going to ask Sara to marry me."

His brother's words made something twist deep inside Alphonse, and, before he could catch himself, the words came tumbling out. "Are you sure, Brother?" Edward winced, as if the question had physically struck him, and Al's hands flew to his mouth. "I didn't mean that!" he exclaimed. "Ed, I really didn't mean it!"

Ed sighed and reached for the box in Al's hands, which the younger man surrendered easily. "You did, Al," he said, his eyes fixed on the gleam of gold staring up from the surrounding velvet. "And I'm kind of glad you said it." His right hand holding the box, Ed removed the ring with his left, turning it in the cold winter sun. "I don't think I'd be this nervous if I didn't have doubts." The gold band glittered and the solitary stone glowed with blue fire, drawing the eyes of both Elrics. Edward shook his head again and replaced it in the box, tucking it back into his pocket.

"I've been thinking about this since I got back from New Mexico," he said, answering Alphonse's unasked question. "I care about Sara, Al. The trip to Roswell made me realize how much I look forward to seeing her smile, how much _better_ things seem when I'm with her. I can't imagine life… I can't imagine being away from her, not anymore. I care about her more than I thought I would." Ed looked up again, and Al saw guilt and pain in his brother's eyes even as his lips twisted into a wistful smile. "But do I love her, Al?" he asked. "I don't know. I don't think I can say that I do, not right now. But… it may come one day. Someday I want to be able to say that I do. But I can't take the chance that she'll wait until then."

Al stared at his brother, dumbfounded, and Havoc took the moment to crawl into his lap, nuzzling his hands. Absentmindedly, Al began petting the grey kitten as he tried to find the words to say. Even though Al felt he had made his peace with abandoning the world of his birth seven years ago when he crawled onboard Ed's ship, it surprised him to know that some small part of him still held out hope that his brother would one day get them home, a hope he'd subconsciously pinned on the fact that Edward never seemed to let Sara get too close, as if ready to leave at a moment's notice. Only now did Alphonse realize how wrongly he had judged his brother, now that he was confronted with the evidence of Ed's commitment to this world, and the woman he'd found in it.

"You're doing the right thing, Brother," he finally said. There was no point in arguing that by Ed's words, Al could tell that he already loved Sara. His brother wasn't ready to believe it yet, and Al knew better than to press the matter. "You and Sara are good for each other, and I know you'll be happy together." Al couldn't help but think of Winry, who didn't have this second chance, and said a little prayer to whatever, whoever, was out there, that she had found her own happiness. 

Forcing the melancholy over Winry out of his mind, Al stood, depositing Havoc on the floor with an indignant meow, and hugged Edward tight, as if by the very gesture he could make his brother understand how proud he was that Edward had finally let go, finally allowed himself to live and love like he should have done so many years before. "So," Al said, pulling back and sitting on the couch next to his brother, "how are you going to pop the question?"

* * *

It had taken another two days for the weather to improve to the point where Ed could return to Dr. Roberts' laboratory. "I'm surprised you're here," Ed said to Dr. Roberts as he warmed his hands over the radiator in the hall. "I could've handled everything that needed to be done today."

"What, and let you hold it over my head that you were here working while I was sitting around at home?" Dr. Roberts asked, waving the walking stick in his hand at his student. Ed grinned, responding with a wordless shrug as the older gentleman continued down the hall and unlocked the door to the lab. "Besides, if I stay home, Evelyn will drive me crazy working over my leg."

"And I bet she's even more worried now that you decided to wander around on the frozen streets," Ed muttered, eyeing his mentor with concern as he followed into the lab. "I'm going to have to drive you home tonight to make sure you don't break it again, aren't I?"

Dr. Roberts glared at Edward as he eased himself into his chair with a sigh. "You're starting to sound like my wife," he warned. "All worried over nothing. Next thing I know you'll be demanding I keep my coat on and cooking me dinner."

Ed snorted as he lifted a piece of curved metal and fitted it against a similar piece on a metal stand, ignoring the metal chill that seeped in through his glove. "Dream on, old man," he said as he twisted a fastener into place. "If you break your leg again, I'm going to end up having to do all this work myself." He looked pointedly at Dr. Roberts, lounging in his chair, and added, "Even more than I am now."

The older man laughed and waved his walking stick again with a grin. "You think it's too cold to do some wind testing today?" he asked. "We've got plenty of data we need to go through as well."

Edward paused in his assembly of the wing and stood, thinking. The radiators were giving off palpable waves of heat, but the air in the middle of the room was still uncomfortably cold. His eyes flicked indecisively over at the stacks of papers on the bench behind the professor and back to the assembly in front of him. He disliked the paperwork, preferring the experiments themselves to the cataloguing of data and finding of correlations that had to happen afterwards. 

"It _is_ too cold for wind testing right now," he agreed reluctantly. "I suppose we could get started on the data, and if the place ever gets warm enough to run tests, we can do that in the afternoon. At least a bad leg doesn't keep you from doing paperwork," he added with an impertinent grin.

* * *

Edward was in the process of sketching data points on a very large sheet of paper tacked to the wall when the front hall's bell rang, announcing a visitor. "Wonder who that is," he asked, putting down the straightedge he had been using. "Don't bother getting up, I'll get it," he added to Dr. Roberts, who had been reading out numbers from a sheet of paper for Ed to plot.

"Hello?" Ed said as he walked down the hall. A familiar blonde stood waiting in the hallway, dusting snow and ice off her coat. "Sara!" he exclaimed, suddenly aware of the tiny box in his pocket. "What are you doing here?"

At the sound of her name, Sara Rockbell looked up and rewarded Ed with a smile. "Hope you don't mind that I let myself in. It's cold outside," she said, her smile deepening as he neared and brushed a kiss against her wind-chilled cheeks.

"You're not answering my question," he teased as she reciprocated, her cold lips still managing to leave a warm tingle where they touched his skin. "Come on into the lab, it's warmer there."

Sara allowed herself to be led down the hall, speaking as they went. "Mrs. Roberts actually called the clinic earlier," she confessed. "She was worried that Dr. Roberts was going to hurt himself coming in to work today with the streets still icy."

Ed rolled his eyes, muttering something about "stubborn old man" under his breath, which made Sara giggle. "Look what you did," Ed said as they entered the lab, gesturing to their visitor. "Your wife thought you'd hurt yourself and sent a doctor."

"Sara! Good to see you," the brown-haired man greeted with a cheerful wave before he shook a finger at her. "But next time that wife of mine calls, you tell her to leave me alone. I'm a full-grown man and don't need to be mothered. You tell Evelyn that."

Sara smiled again, ignoring Dr. Roberts' words as she crossed the room and sat down next to the man. "Mrs. Roberts is just worried about you, sir," she placated, placing a hand on his knee. "And this is bad weather to be out, especially since you're not fully healed up yet." She ran her hands around his knee, murmuring questions, inquiring how each touch felt, and the professor grumbled his answers good-naturedly as Edward watched.

After a few minutes of examination, Sara stopped and nodded. "Doesn't look like you've aggravated it by walking to work," she said. "I'm sure Mrs. Roberts will be glad to hear it, but I hope you'll let Ed drive you home tonight. By the time the weather warms up, you should be good as new."

Dr. Roberts chuckled and patted Sara's shoulder. "You're a good girl, to indulge an old man," he said fondly. "And the best doctor I know. Those men always have cold hands." Sara flushed pink at the compliment, and Ed couldn't help but grin with pride, his hand once again reaching into his pocket to toy with the box that still dwelled there. Ed's mentor glanced at the clock and added, "It's nearly lunchtime. Why don't you and Edward go get something to eat? A hot meal will do you good, missy."

Sara looked to Ed questioningly and he nodded his agreement. "We'll bring you back something hot," she promised as she stood.

* * *

Once back out in the elements, Sara turned left, heading towards the row of restaurants nearby, but Edward pulled her back. "Aren't we going to bring the professor back lunch?" she asked, confused.

"Let's just take the car," Ed answered, fishing out his keys. "It's really too cold to walk, and if I don't drive it, I'm afraid this thing's going to be frozen solid by the time I have to take the old man home." Sara nodded, murmuring admonishment for Ed to show some respect as she followed him into the car.

The car purred to life with a minimal amount of whining, and Ed sighed in relief as he began easing them away from the curb. "This way we can also go a little further," he said with a grin, "and get something different."

They rode in silence, Ed trying to keep his attention on the road and off the tiny object burning a hole in his pocket and Sara content to watch the city scroll by her window. "Do you think Al is busy?" she suddenly asked. "Maybe he'd like to eat with us."

Ed blinked in surprise but waited until they had coasted to a stop at an intersection before he responded. "Sure, it doesn't hurt to stop by the Times office and ask. Though he may be busy chatting up another girl." Ed knew he was babbling, but the mention of Al had reminded him of the conversation with his little brother just days before. Al had been helpful, throwing out suggestions for romantic locations, pretty flowers, and all sorts of things to set the mood for the proposal. Despite his little brother's good intentions, Ed couldn't help but think that such preparations felt insincere, that the presence of so many factors would just make him even more nervous. And if even just thinking about it made him this nervous, Ed suspected he would be an utter wreck when he finally worked up the courage to propose.

The idea came to him in a sudden flash, and Ed almost slammed on the car's brakes at its appearance. He took a deep breath, allowing the feel of icy cold air burning his lungs to calm him. "Hey Sara?" he asked, his voice cracking, knowing just how rash and impulsive he was being, but too afraid not to follow through.

"Yes, Edward?" Forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road, Ed could still tell that she had turned to him, the quizzical expression that never failed to make him smile on her face. 

"I—Could you grab something out of my coat pocket for me?" he said. "My hands are busy," he added, his grip unconsciously tightening around the steering wheel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw her move, hesitantly reaching over to slip her hand into his coat pocket. "Alright," she said, confused, as her fingers closed over the tiny box. "Is this it?"

A nervous smile played at Ed's lips. "Yes. Could you open it for me?" 

Still mystified, Sara nodded and lifted the box top; Ed heard her involuntary gasp and saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she had nearly dropped the box in surprise as she saw the glint of blue and gold winking at her from its velvet cushion. "Ed?" she asked, her voice faint.

Edward risked a glance away from the road to meet her eyes, nervous gold to bewildered blue. "So, will you marry me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice conversational, though the way his voice quivered at the end of the question spoke loudly of just how monumental the question was.

Silence stretched out between them, and Ed made a turn, watching the Times office come into sight. Despite the casual movements of driving, Ed felt like a taut string, waiting anxiously for an answer. "You can't just _ask_ a girl something like this, Ed!" Sara finally exclaimed. "What about all the romantic things? The roses, the candlelit dinner?"

Letting the car come to a stop in front of the building, Ed turned to the woman sitting next to him. "Did you really want all that?" he asked, his brow furrowing as it dawned on him that his impulsive proposal may not have been the best idea. While _he_ thought the trappings of romance felt fake, he certainly wasn't the one who should judge such things… "The flowers, the dinner, the candles?" Something leaden settled in Ed's chest cavity, along with the growing feeling that he had completely and utterly bungled something supremely important.

Sara's delighted giggle came so suddenly in the silence stretching between them that it took him aback. "They would have been nice," she acknowledged, raising the ring between them. She smiled again, this time with the warmth he had come to associate with her, and only her. "But they wouldn't really have been you. I know they would have been Al's doing. This though…" she waved her hand between them. "This was simply _you_. And that means more than the flowers and candles ever could."

"So, is that a yes?" Ed squeaked out, her mercurial response having left him dizzy.

A brush of warm lips against his own was her answer, and, when she pulled away, Sara pulled off her gloves, sliding the ring onto her hand, the blue stone catching the winter light, glinting like the blue fire of her eyes. "Yes."

* * *

Standing next to Sara as the elevator began its humming ascent, Ed couldn't help but glance over at every few seconds, unable to take his eyes off the circlet of blue and gold on her hand. The enormity of what had just happened was only beginning to sink in, and Ed's stomach did a little flip that had nothing to do with the elevator's sudden stop. "Ed?" Sara asked as she stopped, halfway out of the elevator, and turned to him quizzically. "Are you alright?"

Edward gave himself a mental shake. "I'm fine," he answered, mustering up a smile as he followed her out into the hallway. "Just a little shell-shocked, that's all." He took her right hand in his left and squeezed it lightly. "I had gotten used to worrying about having that ring in my pocket, and now it's like I don't know what to think."

The smile she gave him could be described as nothing less than radiant, and Ed felt something inside him warm at the sight. Calm was slowly returning, though it was accompanied by an inexplicable sense of loss, and Ed followed Sara through the maze of desks and journalists as they searched for the familiar blond head of Alphonse Elric.

"Eduard?" At the sound of his name, spoken with a thick Russian accent, Ed turned to face a grinning man with curly black hair. "If you are looking for Alphonse, he is over in the back, speaking to Anita."

"Thanks, Alexei," Ed answered, waving to Al's friend over his shoulder as he followed the direction indicated, leading Sara along. His brow furrowed as he muttered "Anita, now?" to himself, causing a soft giggle from Sara.

Al was, as Alexei had predicted, at the back of the office, talking to a woman with salt and pepper hair. "I think you overreacted a little there, Edward," Sara murmured. Sensing a lull in the conversation, she raised her voice and said, "Look who came to visit, Alphonse!" 

Turning away from Anita, Al's face split into a wide grin at the sight of his brother and friend. Excusing himself from his previous conversation, Al closed the space between them and threw his arms around his visitors. "What brings you two over here?" he asked. Turning to Sara, he continued, "You dragged him out of the lab, didn't you?"

"Sara wanted to see if you'd like to have lunch with us," Ed explained, glaring at both of them for acting as if he wasn't there. 

"And your brother nearly had a fit when we ran into your Russian friend. He thought Anita was your new girlfriend," Sara teased. At that, Al merely rolled his eyes. "So, are you too busy for lunch?"

Alphonse shook his head, wheat-coloured hair falling into his eyes at the motion. "There's a new sandwich shop nearby that's very good," he said, falling into his customary place on Sara's left as they headed back towards the elevator. "They've got the best—" A glint of light caught Al's eye, and he stopped short.

Sara did her best to fight down a smile as Alphonse grabbed her hand and held it up. His eyes, a darker golden brown than his brother's, grew wide as they flicked between the ring on her finger and his brother. "Brother?" he squeaked in disbelief. "You already—?"

Ed offered his brother a wordless nod and an apologetic smile tinged with familiar sadness. Al swallowed past the sudden lump that rose in his throat and forced a matching smile onto his face, knowing his brother would notice that his joy didn't quite reach his eyes and understand why. "Congratulations," he said, a small part of his heart wishing he was offering those words to his brother and a different woman, one whose sunlit hair and azure eyes were the same, but who was all too out of reach.

* * *

**Things of Note**\/p

\/p

_"You think it's too cold to do some wind testing today?"_ – By the 1920s, it had been established that scale models of airfoils (and wings) could accurately predict how full scale wings would react to flow, given that certain conditions (determined by the Reynolds Number, among other things) were met. Therefore, it was possible to build wings and run wind tunnel style tests in a small lab space and still get accurate data for large planes.\/p

\/p

_Eduard?_ – a Russian variant of 'Edward'\/p

\/p

_"There's a new sandwich joint nearby that's swell," he said_ – Roaring Twenties slang: joint an establishment, swell great, wonderful. While Ed doesn't seem like the type to pick up slang very easily, working with a wide variety of people, Al encounters colloquialisms on a regular enough basis that it slips into his everyday speech.\/p


	13. The Ghost in the Mirror

**The Ghost in the Mirror**

The moment I set foot on the aisle, Alphonse nudges his brother, and, even through the filmy cloud of gauze and netting that obscures my vision, I can see Al's grin. At his younger brother's touch, Edward jumps before spinning on his heel, his long blond hair whipping around so quickly it nearly hits the priest in the face. I swallow a laugh and take the slow measured steps toward the two, keeping time to the pianist's music. Only the pews closest to the brothers are filled: the Roberts, Dr. Marcoh and a few of the families from the clinic who have become good friends. Neither Ed nor I have much family left in the world, but this is enough.

Stopping in front of the priest, I allow the greying man to lift my veil, settling it into its proper place over the simple wreath of ribbons and flowers pinned to my hair. My vision cleared, I turn toward Edward and notice for the first time that there's an inexplicable tension around his eyes, a set to his jaw. The priest begins to speak, intoning a prayer I've known since childhood, and I bow my head, murmuring along mechanically. Maybe it is only nervousness. I'm certain my expression is nowhere near as serene as it should be, either. Edward doesn't say a word, though he lowers his eyes; in the last few years, I've become accustomed to his low opinion of religion, but he understands how much it means to me to be here and I'm grateful for that.

As the familiar words fade and the priest launches into the service, I look to Alphonse. His expression is vague, as if his mind is chasing thoughts far from this little church. The moment he feels my eyes on him, he snaps to attention and flashes me a wide grin. I cannot help but smile back in the face of his confident happiness, but as I do, his own smile falters. He notices immediately and fixes the grin back in place, but it's too late; I've seen that crack in his composure, and I know that there is connection between the brothers, something they both feel, something that they will never tell me.

The priest speaks again, instructing Edward and I to turn and face each other. As we obey and I look into Edward's eyes, I marvel again at their colour, that unearthly shade of golden amber that at once expresses and hides so much. I wonder if he realizes that I've learned to see the signs in his face when he's hiding something, like he is now. I suspect he doesn't, because if he did, he would be trying to hide even that from me.

It saddens me how little I really know about the man I'm about to marry. I know the superficial details: he and Alphonse used to live in a little farm town in Germany, their mother died when they were young and Edward had turned to science to find a cure for his brother after their accident. But do I know how Edward Elric became the man he is? No. The scars of pain and suffering are etched into his very soul and those scars are too deep for him to share. Sometimes I wish I did know, that I understood what happened to him in those long years before I met him that turned him into the man I've grown to love, what refining fires had burned away the innocence, the optimism that his younger brother still possessed.

Maybe someday he will tell me. Maybe someday I'll learn about those limbs, so lovingly crafted and impossibly real, that he wears with such reverence. Maybe someday he'll tell me about the girl who made them. Until then, I am content to wait; I know he cares about me, that he cannot imagine our lives as anything but entwined, and, for now, that is enough. The trust I wish for will come, at least, I hope so.

The priest has been speaking, but I have been lost in my own thoughts, and it takes the sudden movement of Edward's hands to bring me back to reality. He places the wedding band on my finger, the metal cool against my skin, as the priest continues giving him instructions. Though I can hear the sincerity and emotion in Edward's voice as he speaks the vows that would bind us together, I cannot help but notice that his eyes are faraway, as if staring through me.

It is now my turn to act and I fumble for a moment, catching the circlet of gold just in time to slip it onto Ed's finger without accident. I swallow past the lump in my throat and repeat the vows that he had just made to me, the promises of a life together, of a future that weathers life's storms. As the words fall from my lips, Edward's eyes begin to blink rapidly and I notice the hint of tears that form, the feel of his hands, warm tender flesh and mysterious metal, tightening carefully around mine. His body's eloquence is far louder than the words he has never spoken.

The priest speaks again, pronouncing us husband and wife, and I feel myself smile, a tremulous thing mirrored in Edward's own expression. More words from the priest, but I cannot make them out over the sound of blood pounding in my ears as Edward, my mysterious friend and now enigmatic husband, turns, a thousand emotions flickering through his eyes like mercury. He, obviously, had made out the priest's last instructions. As he leans towards me, I wonder which of his many secrets causes him to still have such pain in his eyes on a day like today. But then his lips touch mine, and my eyes flutter shut, savoring the warmth, that smoldering fire that is uniquely and wholly Edward, that drew me to him as surely as a moth to candlelight.

* * *

**Historical References**

_The chapel _- Church of the Holy Cross was a Roman Catholic church located on West 42nd Street. Founded in 1852, the current Romanesque inspired building was completed in 1870 after a lightning strike damaged the majority of the original building. In 1933 (when Sara and Ed were married), an organ was being installed, hence the use of a pianist.

_lift my veil...over the simple wreath of ribbons and flowers_ - During the 1930s, women's fashion once again became conservative (due to the social and economic turmoil of the Great Depression), and bridal fashions were no exception. Simple veils worn with either a cloche-style cap or wreath of flowers were in favor, as were simple white dresses that ended slightly above the ankle.


End file.
